


primary season

by glitteration



Series: justify the cost of the fight [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Washington DC AU, a veritable cast of thousands, background ships by the thousands, extreme wonkery, inside baseball, no literally thousands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-03 13:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteration/pseuds/glitteration
Summary: outrun, outlast. hit 'em quick, get out fast.aka, a dc au starring bellamy, pike, and kane and only vaguely a retelling of s3.





	1. the future is not a gift: it is an achievement.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > _the plan is to fan this spark into a flame._

Elections are tough beasts to ride. It doesn’t matter how sure things seem before they start _or_ while they’re on: November will have the final say. Even the best pollsters using their most accurate models can’t predict the future beyond a shadow of the doubt, only read the trends and guess at what they mean.

There’s a year and a half left to fill before the day itself. Campaigns can implode in far less time than that, but polling says this may be the first election in a good half a century where a candidate from the outgoing president’s party stands a chance of holding the White House for a third term. Abigail Griffin won’t endorse until the delegates are locked down; as president, it wouldn’t be fair to throw her considerable political weight behind any one candidate. If the Democrats can seize this chance to solidify gains made by her administration, any whiff of tipped scales could turn the fickle tide of public opinion away from her choice.

That choice is obvious, attempts at evidence of impartiality aside. Marcus Kane, a decorated veteran and her soon to be former secretary state, has her favor if not the benefit any official favoritism.

Given all that, the primary should be a formality. The general is going to be his real race, and he very well might be the one with his hand on the bible two Januaries from now. He has the party, the money, and the sitting president on his side once he emerges victorious next July.

That kind of arrogance is the killing kind, and so far as _he_ knows, Charles Pike is the only one aware of it.

Yet.

 

* * *

 

`**unknown number**  
` where r kane’s numbers weakest``

`**b.blake**  
` cute. i don’t go on-record for anonymous questions.``

`**unknown number**  
`...wtf man``

`**unknown number**  
` oh shit didn’t realize i was on a burner``

`**unknown number**  
` it’s murphy dickhead``

`**unknown number**  
` b4 you say prove it i know where the polaroids are hiding, chaos man``

`**b.blake**  
` fine, i believe you.``

`**b.blake**  
` still don’t know why you’re asking me about unfavorables.``

`**unknown number**  
` look just answer the question``

`**b.blake**  
` if this ends up on wonkette i swear to god i will skin you alive.``

`**b.blake**  
` we’re lagging in the south and the rust belt.``

`**b.blake**  
` but you know that, everybody knows that.``

`**b.blake**  
` so what’s your angle?``

`**unknown number**  
` i fucking hate owing you, it makes my skin crawl``

`**unknown number**  
` and what i have for you is more than enough to clear up the tab from that weird shit w/ jaha``

`**unknown number**  
` a little bird told me charles pike just doubled the size of his comms team``

`**unknown number**  
` interesting timing huh``

`**unknown number**  
` his poll numbers are interesting, too ``

`**unknown number**  
` his home state’s already got a real hardon for him``

`**unknown number**  
` he’s good w/ the 45-up guns and god crowd``

`**unknown number**  
` they can do a million dinosaurs in a diner predict the future pieces cnn eats that shit UP``

`**unknown number**  
` there’s some old footage of him helping his constituents work a farm``

`**unknown number**  
` he honest to god rolls up his literal sleeves``

`**unknown number**  
` that is MASTER LEVEL pandering``

`**unknown number**  
` his people leaked it back out anonymously to some nothing blogger last month ``

`**unknown number**  
` it’s gonna be gd everywhere once he announces ``

`**unknown number**  
` might wanna shore up your end with that kind of mom and pop crap before it becomes an issue for your boy``

`**unknown number**  
` go kiss some Real American hands and shake some Real American babies``

`**unknown number**  
` come on blake, where’s the love for this epic heads up``

`**b.blake**  
` you’re sure about all of this?``

`**unknown number**  
` as a fucking heart attack``

`**unknown number**  
` so r we square?``

`**b.blake**  
` yeah. i gotta go.``

`**unknown number**  
` you’re welcome, asshole``

 

* * *

 

“Charles Pike is going to run.”

Without looking up from his work, Lincoln takes a moment to process the words and respond. When he does, it’s clear he’s only half-listening. “For reelection? Why are we interested?”

“Because he’s not running for senate again.”

Lincoln looks up at that, brow wrinkling. Slowly, he leans back from his desk and gives Bellamy a piercing stare. “He’s a junior senator with great numbers and no in-party challengers. Of course he’s running.”

“No, he’s not.” Bellamy drops his battered shoulder bag carelessly, ignoring the resulting thud in favor of shoving a folder with the list of Pike’s new staff Lincoln’s way. “Murphy dropped me a line, so I called a guy who knows one of the hires and confirmed it. You don’t double your team to win a statewide election you’ve got a lock on already.”

“...he’s planning to take a shot at the White House,” Lincoln breathes out, eyes glued to the paper. “Does Kane know?”

“Not yet.”

“You have to go tell him.”

“Tell him what?” Drawn by the sound of their voices, Octavia steps out of her office. Her eyes dart between them, a frown gathering. “What’s going on?”

“Charles Pike is going to run for president.”

“...oh.”

Bellamy’s gaze jerks towards the sound of Marcus’ voice like a puppet on a string, and out of his peripheral vision he can see Octavia and Lincoln do the same. “Sir…”

“No, it’s all right.” Marcus’ reassuring smile rings hollow, but his voice is strong. “I had only… nevermind. Octavia, I assume you know what to do?”

She nods, moving her chin in a decisive slice through the air like she’s wielding a weapon. “I do.”

“Then I should get back to my office and finish practicing my speech.” He nods to Bellamy. “You did good work on this one. Harper as well, but I can see your touch in the rhetoric.”

They watch him go in silence, and Octavia’s voice lacks its usual volume when she sighs. “He seemed upset.”

“They served together.”

Octavia just blinks at him, eyes still questioning, but beside her Lincoln nods as if what Bellamy’s said makes perfect sense.

“That was literal decades ago, but okay… if you say so.” Octavia shrugs. “I’m going to go ruin a sneak attack. Bellamy, if you’re going to the fundraiser I’ll see you there tonight?”

“A chance to enjoy the rubber chicken circuit? No way, I already lined up an excuse to bail out.” Bellamy slides into his desk chair. “You’ll have to enjoy the fine cuisine and best K-Street has to offer without me.” Her well-aimed shove sends the pile of folders stacked on his desk cascading to the floor. “Brat.”

“Love you too, big brother.”

 

* * *

 

Pike had been _sure_ he’d covered his tracks well enough the comms hires would fly under the radar, but less than a week after he brings the last of them onboard Sterling Leggièri mentions it in a roundup of potential also-rans to Kane.

It had been a futile hope. Somebody’s _always_ watching in DC, and primary season means increased eyes in every corner. It had been a miracle they’d survived as long as they had once Gillmer started twisting bigger and more important arms to find money to fund their earliest polling. Hannah is rattled to see her carefully planned timeline thrown off, but deep down he’s grateful to whoever it was that hunted down his comms hires and dropped a word to Politico about it. Inaction never sat comfortably on his shoulders.

He declares his candidacy on a nondescript Tuesday in May, a few blocks away from the capitol.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Looks like I gathered quite a crowd.” An appreciative chuckle ripples through the dozen and change reporters who bothered to show up. One or two major outlets; not a single big name, but he hadn’t expected otherwise. “That’s all right, though, you can go ahead and call this ‘exclusive’ to spare my pride if you think I do a good job.” This time the laugh is louder, and Pike feels his shoulders loosen a little. He can do this; he can get them on his side, and their tone can make no small difference in how his announcement is received by the country. “Now, I know you’ve all been given this story just to fill an inch or two, so I’ll try and keep it quick and then you can all shoot me a couple questions. Sound like a deal?”

There’s something like fate bearing down on him. He can feel it gathering, pushing him forward like a gust of wind at his back.

“All right, then. I intend to challenge Secretary Kane for the Democratic nomination.”

Finn Collins looks up from his phone for the first time, attention sharpening. His hand shoots into the air, and Pike feels that wind grow stronger when he nods and Collins’ voice carries up to the podium. “Just Kane? Last time I checked, he wasn’t the only candidate on the field.”

Pike cocks his head, aware of the entire crowd vibrating with the excitement of reporters handed a full day of clicks without warning. His candidacy can be news, but he won’t flatter himself it’s the kind they can _do_ much with. If he can tie Marcus in, that’s a different story.

“Maybe not, but he’s the only one I have to beat to win this thing.”

“And you think you’ll win?” Collins challenges.

Pike’s mouth quirks. “Well, the voters have the final say there… but yeah. I think I can win, or I wouldn’t bother to run.”

The pop-clicks of cameras going off below him turns the words into a marching song.

 

* * *

 

_“—be not, but he’s the only one I have to beat to win this thing.”_

Bellamy can’t hold back his laugh, and Octavia’s glare is immediate. Muting the TV, she stares him down disapprovingly. “This isn’t funny, Bellamy. Pike shouldn’t be talking like that, it makes it look like we’re trying to pull something. The press would love an excuse to invent some bullshit drama to spice up the race, and we’re the ones who get to be the Goliath in this matchup. Nobody _likes_ Goliath, Bell. We can’t let him set the narrative.”

He shakes his head, holding up his hands in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture. “Look, O, it was a good line from a novelty candidate. He’ll chew up a news cycle or two in the immediate, and if he makes it to the real rumble he’ll flame out after Super Tuesday.” He smirks. “And he’s right, admit it.”

She sucks on her teeth in annoyance, one of the few reminders of peevish child left in the sister he’s seen grow into a fiercely competent woman, then sighs. “Fine, whatever. He’s right, and we’re still gonna win.” She pauses, watching Pike’s face move, animated enough to be compelling even with the volume jacked all the way down on their shitty conference room tv. “He gives good interview.”

“He always did have more than his fair share of charisma.” Marcus announces his presence without fanfare, pulling up a seat at the table. “Charles has every right to run, Octavia, as well as every right to assess the situation as he sees it.” A small, barely perceptible smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “A secure campaign might decide to make it known they take it as a compliment.”

Octavia’s already pulling out her phone. “You want me to drop Roma Bragg an email? She’s over at the Gray Lady now, and if I give her something exclusive and help her raise her profile it might help us down the line, when we need a friendly ear in the general.”

Marcus nods, fondness lingering in his eyes. “If you don’t mind, could you—”

“I’ll have Harper help me come up with the exact wording, don’t worry.” She stands, shooting one last disgruntled look at the screen where Pike is wrapping up his press conference. “He’s going to be a problem for us.”

She gives them both an arch look and swivels on her heel, calling for Harper before she’s even pulled the door closed.

“So, what’s your take?”

“...sir?” Bellamy looks back at Marcus, one brow quirked in confusion.

“About Pike.” He waves a hand at the tv. “You told Octavia he wouldn’t matter. Is that what you really think?”

“I think you’re going to be the next president, sir.”

“From your lips to God’s ears—but that’s not what I asked.”

Bellamy drums his fingertips on the table, nodding. “Yeah, all right. Well, he’s definitely good on camera, and the press is ready to hype somebody they haven’t already chewed on for years and make this thing interesting. He’s got a solid progressive record on domestic policy…”

“Better than mine, in places.” Marcus’ smile goes tight, old pain flashing in his eyes.

Nodding reluctantly, Bellamy continues, “But his voting record’s gonna get everybody from center left on out riled when it comes to foreign policy, though, and we can leverage that. No way the moonbat contingent will let it pass without making a lot of noise.”

“The anti-war caucus has been a reliable ally, Bellamy.”

It’s not a real reprimand, so Bellamy just grins. “Yeah, like I said: we got the moonbats.”

Marcus nods, thoughtful. “So that’s the strategist’s take. What’s the man’s? He was one of the officers overseeing BRC when you went through… it gives you a unique perspective.”

“You served together, sir. I was only with him for a couple months, then sometimes I saw him around base before he left for DC.” Bellamy doesn’t know why the urge to push back at that line of reasoning feels necessary, but an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach urges him on.

Marcus is undeterred. “We spent our time together when we were both much younger men—you got to know him long after then. I’d like to know more about _that_ man.”

“He was… strict, but pretty much everybody liked him. He was funny. Fair. Willing to take a little shit from down the chain without pulling rank.” Bellamy itches at his left wrist, thinking back to his freshly shorn head and anxiety about Octavia, left alone without him, and what Pike had done for him. “And nobody wanted to piss him off, Christ. He knew exactly what to say to work you over worse than if he yelled.”

Smiling, Marcus leans back in his seat. “That sounds a lot like the man I knew myself.” He pauses contemplatively, and the smile fades away. “Tell me, _is_ he going to be a problem for us?”

From the next room, Bellamy can hear the low rumble of Miller and the higher pitched hum that has to be Harper, an indistinct song. The clock ticks over another five seconds, then ten. Finally, he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, if he’s taking this seriously I think he could be.”

 

* * *

 

“What do you have for me, Hannah?” Busy juggling a mug of coffee, a bagel, and a stack of folders, Pike forgoes a greeting and raises his eyebrows in expectation.

She looks up from her laptop with a small smile that disappears behind a quiet, competent mask. “Good news or bad news?”

“Bad news, then let’s end this on a high note.”

“Bad news it is.” She shuffles through a stack of papers on her desk before handing him two, neatly stapled together. “Cozying up to donors time.”

Pike scans the list and represses the urge to kick something in frustration. His previous lack of constant need to dance and smile for a check from someone who could easily spare what they give twice over is still undeniably appealing, but without the party or small donors to keep the lights on and the staff paid he’s going to need to land a defense lobbyist or two and see what they can shake out of the trees. It’ll cost him a fortune in promises of returned favors down the line and unfortunately, there’s no way around the necessity.

“You want the good news now, sir?”

“Please, or I’m going to have to toss this bagel because money grubbing turns my stomach.”

She hands him another stapled together collection of printouts, this one thicker. “I had Chase collect some of the press responses to your announcement.” Clearing her throat, the kind of mischief she hasn’t shown much of since she became a single mother late in life curls her lips up into a smirk. “The Daily Show had a good read on it.”

He looks through the list with considerably more enthusiasm than he’d given the donors. “‘And when it comes to the Democrats, Charles Pike has announced he’s the latest to enter the race to lose hard to Marcus Kane. Sure, we all know he’s doomed, but that _voice_. I hope he sticks around long enough to give a couple speeches, folks, because I’d line up and slap down cash to listen to that guy read the ingredients off a box of Corn Pops…’ Okay, this is pretty funny.”

“Thought you might like that.”

Pike chuckles, scanning the rest of the quote. “Do me a favor? Give her people a call and see if they want an interview. Might be good to do a little work on the youth vote while we’re still trying to gain traction, see if I can’t gather enough buzz to start making people over at Kane’s office twitchy.”

“On it, sir.” She pauses. “Speaking of Kane’s team, you’re going to need to sit down with Gillmer.”

Pike feels a familiar fondness war with aggravation in his chest. “...what’d he do now? Tell me nobody’s pressing charges.”

“No punches thrown at all, sir.”

“So why are you looking at me like that?”

Hannah’s mouth nearly disappears as she presses her lips together tight enough to bleach them bone white. “He got into it with Kane’s comms head in the green room over at CNN. It was… loud. Several of their reporters heard. Not all the details, but enough.”

“ _Shit_. All right.” Gillmer’s loyalty is absolute; it’s part of what makes him so valuable, but it doesn’t make keeping him on the payroll any less of a risk. “Once he’s back from New York, I’ll talk to him first thing.” A call to Marcus once he’s had a chance to sit Gillmer down and get him back on track wouldn’t go amiss, either, but that’s another headache for another day. “Get on that Martin thing right away, all right? I want to strike while the iron’s hot and see how far we can push the initial novelty factor before Gillmer’s stunt eats up too much of our coverage.”

“I’ll shoot off an email to her assistant now.”

“Good.” Speaking around a bite of bagel, Pike glares down at the donor list before swallowing and cramming the rest in his mouth. “Calls like these are why I hired Lacroix, you know.”

“Yes, sir. You’ve mentioned that once or twice before.”

“And the jokes are why I hired you.” Hannah’s still not the woman she was, but the flashes of humor that show up now and again at his expense remind him of the woman he met and led in the field and not a pale shadow at a gravesite. “Remind me to get Iris to work me up a speech on campaign finance reform? After another round of this I’ll have all the fire I need to make it a good one.”

 

* * *

 

“He came out eating _Corn Pops_? What kind of pandering garbage is that?”

“He brought enough for the Gina and the audience, too.” Jasper’s lips twitch in amusement, and Harper smacks his shoulder with a clipboard. “What? It was a good bit. And it pays to pander.”

“He’s right, twitter loved it.” Octavia shoots Lincoln a betrayed look, and he shrugs apologetically. “They did. It didn’t stop trending for a full three hours after it aired.”

“Well, twitter is garbage, too.”

Over on the shitty office couch, Monty raises his middle finger without looking up from the laptop perched on his knees. “Twitter’s where I work my best magic, Octavia, you know that.”

She shrugs. “Still garbage, though.”

“...fair.”

“He’s trying to make this into a two person race before the primary even begins.”

“ _He_ is, huh?” This time, Harper turns her clipboard on Octavia, grazing her thigh with the edge. “I didn’t spend nearly an hour on the phone with Sulzbach convincing her to kill a story about you picking a fight because of _Pike_.”

“Just the biggest dickhead who works for him.”

“I heard you started it.”

Octavia’s face twists into a scowl. “...fine.” Harper waits, expectant, and Octavia rolls her eyes. “I won’t do it again, okay.”

“Good.” Harper’s face relaxes into a smile. “He really is an asshole.”

“He punched a guy, once. A reporter. The guy started heckling Pike, saying ugly shit, and Gillmer put a fist in his face,” Monroe offers from the corner, a faint hint of admiration hidden behind her stoicism. “Broke his nose.”

Harper turns to her with an amused, private smile. “Most people don’t say that like it’s a good thing.”

Monroe shrugs and then smiles back, the quick flash of white teeth there and gone. “Somebody needed to shut him up.”

Tacitly ignoring the way Harper and Monroe’s ever-tightening circles around each other have become group activities lately, Bellamy narrows his eyes at Monroe. “Don’t punch anyone.” He swings his gaze to Octavia, fighting the smile playing at the corners of his own mouth. “That means you too, O.”

Octavia narrows her eyes in a mock-challenge, tossing her head and sending her hair swinging out in a glossy curtain. “Try and stop me.”

“Does it help if I mention I also would prefer none of my staff find themselves brought up on assault charges?” Marcus surveys them from the doorway of his office, amusement ill-hidden behind a mug of tea. “Lincoln, the venue for next month’s DC rally left a message, something about capacity concerns?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Nodding, Marcus turns back to his office door. “Oh, and, Octavia?”

“...yes?”

“I do appreciate the sentiment.” Once the handle clicks shut, they can hear his laugh clearly even through the wall.

Octavia spread her hands wide and shrugs. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m taking that as permission to punch more people.”

Her outraged shriek when he ruffles her hair is well-worth the fist she plants in his gut in retaliation.

 

* * *

 

A scuffle breaks out on the other side of the door moments after he closes it, and Marcus feels an answering riotous burst of affection for the patchwork little family his staff has made of themselves.

He’d never known how much that sort of returned loyalty and trust in his vision could mean until he’d felt their effects. It changes something in the way his desire to win sit on his shoulders, a coat taken in and tailored to better effect. Cockiness is a mistake they can ill afford, no matter what arrogance the press ascribes to the campaign.

Still. Confidence isn’t a sin, and watching his dream slowly pull its threads together to form the larger, long-imagined picture is a heady experience. The convention is barely more than a year away, the speech he’s wanted to give all his life already taking shape in his mind.

The buzz of his phone against his desktop shakes him from his thoughts, and Marcus’ distraction sharpens into anticipation when he reads the name on the screen.

“Hello, Charles.”

“Marcus.” He sounds almost exactly as he had; there’s a deeper rasp to his voice that says reenlistment brought back old habits Marcus managed to avoid and did its damage, but the resonance suits him. “I should have called sooner.”

“You were under no obligation—”

“For an old friend, I should have taken the time.”

Drawing in a breath to deny that it mattered either way, Marcus feels the sting of finding out from Bellamy play back in his mind and settles on a more forward thinking route. “Regardless, you’re calling now.”

“I am.” Pike pauses, and Marcus can feel him deliberating his next words. “I’m not… look, Marcus, this is a call about politics, but this isn’t a _political call_. No hidden daggers, I promise.”

“From either of us.”

“All right, good.” Pike chuckles, the rich sound filling the line. “Who would have thought you and I would be the ones having these kind of conversations way back when?”

“Maybe it’s good we have that to fall back on.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” He sounds relieved, voice unburdened from some last measure of reserve Marcus hadn’t realized wasn’t simply a consequence of age. “I want this to be a clean campaign. We run on issues, we win or lose on issues. No anonymous oppo dumps, no scathing editorials, no attack ads.”

“Leave the necessary evils for the general, you mean.”

“Yeah, something like that.” Marcus can hear rustling over the line, like Pike is moving around his office. “Which reminds me, I gotta apologize for Gillmer. He’s loyal, but he doesn’t know when to stop.”

“Sounds something like Octavia herself, and why I should apologize for her as well.”

“Call it even?”

“That sounds more than fair.”

They share a quiet laugh, and finally Pike sighs. “We should get together for a beer once this part is over, all right? No matter which way it falls.”

“We might need more than one.”

There’s a soft chuckle on the other end of the line, then the sound of knocking. “...hey, sorry, I’ve got to—”

As if it’s been scripted, there’s a knock on Marcus’ own door.

“Sir?” Harper sounds hesitant. “Sir, I need to discuss…” She pauses, conscious of a third set of ears trained on her words. “Your speech.”

“I’ll let you go,” Pike says, another, louder knock accompanying his voice. “Gillmer, give me one more second—I’m holding you to the beer, okay? And good luck. I mean that.”

Marcus clears his throat, blinking rapidly against a sudden wave of feeling. “After the convention. Good luck to you too, Charles.”

 

* * *

 

Marcus is still a ways from wrapping up his speech when Pike starts to move from his spot in the middle of the crowd and make for the exit. A hoodie and a ballcap was enough to fool the last bits of the press lingering in the lobby on his way in, but once they filter out afterwards there’s a greater chance one of them sees through the attempt to blend in.

The hall pulses with energy. Every single person in the throng standing between Pike and the door cheers like their heart is ready to give out with the effort, waving posters and cell phones and lawn signs and pieces of computer paper with messages scrawled on them.

It doesn’t bode well for _his_ campaign, but their faith in Marcus is bouying. The presidency is a long shot, and the man standing behind that podium, inspiring that trust from the crowd… he’s a man Pike would be proud to serve under if the inevitable truly can’t be thwarted.

“What are you doing here?” A pale arm plants itself in the middle of his chest, blocking his path. Pike follows that arm up to the shoulder and up again until he’s meeting Octavia Blake’s suspicious glare.

“Just taking in the rally. Ms. Blake.” He steps back and nods respectfully to her even when she ignores the hand he offers to shake, but his face splits in a broad grin as he takes in her silent shadow. “Zoe Monroe. I heard Kane snatched you up. It’s good to see you again.”

“Good to see you too, sir.” Much to Octavia’s obvious displeasure, Monroe doesn’t ignore his handshake. “Bellamy brought me along Kane hired him.”

“Field Director, right? Congratulations. It’s a long way from staffer to a first year congressman.”

“You were good practice.”

Octavia snatches Monroe’s bicep and holds it in a death grip, knuckles white. “We should get back. I’m sure the representative needs to be somewhere.”

The purposeful mistake in address is clearly designed to nettle him, but Pike has to bite back a chuckle. If a little demotion is all she throws at him, Marcus meant what he said about having a talk with her. “That’s my cue, I think. Nice to see you both—and Monroe, congratulations again.” Nodding in goodbye to them both, he turns away and feels Octavia’s gaze prickle on the back of his neck even as he puts a few feet between them.

“What a vote-splitting DINO prick.” It’s clearly meant for his ears. Swallowing the urge to raise his hand and wave in acknowledgement, Pike keeps walking.

Octavia Blake would hate anyone running against her candidate, but something about him specifically has her worried. It’s not a bad sign.

 

* * *

 

“Bry took a job with Pike. Heading up comms, so it’s a high profile title with bigger salary than mine to boot.” Neon glints off Miller’s closely-cropped hair, giving him a fuzzy purple and yellow halo and casting his face in stern lines.

Bellamy presses his lip together, striving for casual surprise. “No shit, really?”

“Lie better, asshole.” Miller’s elbow to the ribs doesn’t quite _hurt_ , but it doesn’t not hurt either. “You saw the article in The Hill, huh?”

“Yeah, I saw it.” He takes a sip of beer, fiddling with the label for a moment. “Salary thing wasn’t in there, though.”

Miller’s eyes glint with gratitude at the tacit opening to vent. “Nah, we had a fight. I said some shit, he said some shit, and next thing you know I was screaming about him fucking over the next president of the United States and blowing his shot at working in the White House and he was throwing the paycheck and how much he needs it to cover college loans in my face.”

“...Jesus.”

“Yeah, it was pretty much an all-around shitshow. Riley Hofer over at CNN gives it every sad face emoji he’s got.”

“God, that guy’s such a hack.”

“Amen to that.” Miller lifts his bottle, and Bellamy raises his own to click them in a rough toast. “Seriously, though, what the hell right? It’s not wrong to expect the guy I’m dating—the guy I’m _living_ with—to give me a heads up before he takes a job working for the enemy.”

“Opponent.”

“...what?”

“Pike’s our _opponent_ , Nate, not our enemy. The enemy’s whoever throws the hardest elbows and comes out on top for the GOP, you know that. Once the primary ends, we’re all on the same team.”

“You sound like Kane trying to keep reporters from hyping this party divide.”

“Well, he’s right.”

Miller frowns, brows drawing together. “Fuckin’ a, man, I know why Kane does it, but why are you caping for Pike and Co so hard here? Even the president wanted Kane to run, you know that. Everybody knows that, the party’s on-board, so why is this guy trying to throw a wrench in the process?”

“Yeah, well, after ‘68 we did this whole reform to keep the stench of backrooms off the nomination…”

“Come on, man, really. Why are you their side?”

Bellamy sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m not.” Miller snorts, and Bellamy knocks their shoulders together, just a hair past gently. “I’m _not_ , all right? Jesus. I agree, it was shitty Bryan took the job without telling you.”

“But?”

“But I don’t think it was shitty to take the job. He needed the money—”

“We _all_ need the money—”

“And _maybe_ ,” Bellamy continues over Miller’s interjection, “he just thinks Pike would be a good president.”

Miller narrows his eyes and silence draws out uncomfortably between them for nearly a minute until he shakes his head and exhales noisily. “...well, shit.” He sits back in his barstool, disbelief written clearly across his features. “ _You_ think he’d be a good president, too.”

“We’re not talking about me right now.”

“Nah, I think we are. Do you?”

“Nate…”

“Do you think he’d be good at the job, yes or no?”

“We’re on the same side, here. I’m not working to get Pike elected, am I?”

“Yes or no?”

“Oh, for—yes, all right? Yes. I think somebody on earth other than Kane might be half decent at running the country. Why does it matter? I’m not voting for the guy, it shouldn’t matter if I don't hate him.”

“It just _does_.” Miller sets his jaw mulishly. “This is our year, and he’s trying to fuck with that. You should be as pissed off at him as the rest of us.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Miller growls in frustration and slams back the rest of his beer in one go. “Fine. Have a boner for the guy out to beat you, whatever. You wanna act stupid, it’s your life. I’m gonna get a Lyft back to my place and spend the next two solid days sleeping.” His jaw works on words he thinks better of saying. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“See you Monday,” Bellamy echoes weakly, but Miller’s already been swallowed by the crowd.

Sighing, he turns back to the bar and finishes the rest of his own bottle in one go. Getting the kind of drunk he needs to be right now isn’t smart in public, even for people without a presidential candidate to embarrass. The apartment’s still bare without O, but he stopped at the deli on the corner for sandwiches and more than enough booze to get the job done before heading out to meet Miller.

His feet stick to the floor and release with an audible sound when he stands, and Bellamy’s lips quirk. Another reason to finish the job at home: no need for shoes.

 

* * *

 

`**b.blake**  
` hey``

`**b.blake**  
` got a minute to offer an honest opinion?``

`**b.blake**  
` i’m trying to get on my head on straight about something and i’m drunk and shoeless and i got nothing. you’re smart. tell me what the hell.``

`**b.blake**  
` shit i’m probably too drunk for this sorry to be this brand of dick.``

`**b.blake**  
` tell lexa i say hey i’m gonna have another beer and hope it kicks my ass into unconsciousness.``

`**c.griffin**  
` she got called back to the hill for an emergency meeting, it’s fine. ``

`**c.griffin**  
` i can’t tell if you’re just sloppy/exhausted drunk or having a real existential crisis, but i’m always telling you to listen to me more.``

`**c.griffin**  
` what’s wrong?``

`**b.blake**  
` nate wants me to hate pike.``

`**c.griffin**  
` and?``

`**b.blake**  
` and i don’t hate pike.``

`**b.blake**  
` should i hate pike?``

`**b.blake**  
` do you hate pike?``

`**c.griffin**  
` no.``

`**c.griffin**  
` he’s not going to vote for lexa’s bill and i worked hard on that, so i wouldn’t say i like him right now, but i don’t hate him.``

`**c.griffin**  
` miller gets protective, and kane’s his candidate.``

`**c.griffin**  
` you don’t have to hate him just because he’s running, bellamy. let miller be miller, it’s fine.``

`**c.griffin**  
` bellamy?``

`**c.griffin**  
` you still awake?``

`**b.blake**  
` what if i like him?``

`**c.griffin**  
` then that’s fine, too.``

`**c.griffin**  
` go to bed, bellamy.``

`**c.griffin**  
` you’re helping a guy run for president. breakdowns happen, mom threw stuff sometimes and once one of those things was AT jackson.``

`**c.griffin**  
` drink some water and sleep, okay? ``

`**c.griffin**  
` i won’t even make fun of you once you sober up. i’m that good a friend.``

`**b.blake**  
` you are though.``

`**b.blake**  
` i miss working with you.``

`**b.blake**  
` nate doesn’t listen to shitty music and lecture me about trees.``

`**c.griffin**  
` okay, you really need to go to sleep before you give me the recipe to the secret sauce.``

`**c.griffin**  
` but i miss it too.``

`**c.griffin**  
` night, bellamy.``

`**b.blake**  
` night clarke.``

 

* * *

 

_Every American knows we live in complicated times… full of possibility, but dangerous. The system just isn’t working for us, and our enemies abroad gain ground when we lose it. Don’t you think you deserve a candidate who understands that too?_

_“Washington is the place where your money goes to be spent on people who have more than their fair share already. As your president, I’ll fight against the special interests groups with a chokehold on our process; I’ll fight for you. For the promise that our children—all our children—will live in a safer and more prosperous world than their parents knew. Isn’t it time someone did?”_

_This ad was paid for by the Charles Pike for President Committee._

 

* * *

 

Arkadia is the kind of post-college bar Pike left behind when a run at the senate became a real possibility—'decorated veteran' is the kind of qualification that can make or break a career, but it goes one way with 'was jailed in a bar fight' tacked on the end. The vaguely seedy air still feels familiar. It’s like tripping and landing in a memory, a boost to the sense of anticipation gathering at the base of his spine, and it pushes him forward.

Bars like this are exactly where he can hope to find the key to rolling Sisyphus’ boulder up the hill.

The crowd is thin enough on a Saturday afternoon he spots him immediately, pale under his tan with the telltale glassy look of a man reembracing last night’s bad choices early.

"Well, look who it is—Bellamy Blake." Sliding onto the stool next to his target, Pike nods at the bartender and points at Bellamy's beer to order one of his own before turning his attention to the man he came to find. "It's been too long."

"...not since the first state of the union. Good to see you again, sir." Bellamy's already suspicious, it's plain in the cautious greeting. He doesn't know what the angle is, but he knows Pike has one.

 _Good_. He's not here to try and poach a man who can't sense an ambush coming.

"Well, at least you didn't call me Senator." He sips at his just-delivered beer. "Just Pike, please. It's after hours and I haven't had command of a unit for years. How's Marcus doing?"

It wouldn't pay to be openly disrespectful, but his friendly informality is calculated. Bellamy will report all this back no matter how it goes, and Marcus Kane was a brother in arms before he was ever a fellow politician. Their differences in ideology doesn't mean there's any personal friction, and making that it as clear as possible that he meant every promise he made over the phone can only help.

"Secretary Kane's been working very hard, but we feel confident in our chances." Bellamy sells the party line well, particularly when it has the benefit of being true.

"I hear your people are pulling down some impressive donors over there. Breaking all kinds of records."

Bellamy's eyes slide to the left, over towards the dingy mirror by the bar, then back his way. "You know I'm not going to have that conversation." His shoulders are inching up towards his ears, and Pike claps a hand on his back.

"Relax, Bellamy." He takes another sip, letting the reassurance settle in. Bellamy really does have awful taste in beer, but it's exactly the taste he'd had himself at that age. " _Relax_. I'm not here to ferret out your team's darkest secrets. I may be running against him, but I'm still an old friend."

Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, and Bellamy takes another sip himself. "Fine. What else do you hear?"

"Lots of murmurs that you'd all be happier if I packed up and tossed him an endorsement instead. His numbers aren't great with the blue dogs, and mine are." Bellamy winces at a point well-scored. They both have the same results tacked to a board somewhere, showing that Marcus is sitting comfortably until you start to move away from the center-left. "I also hear that Jaha's planning to hammer him on his ties to radical environmentalist groups in a floor speech next week."

"We know how to handle Jaha."

"Nobody knows how to handle Jaha." Laughing, Pike raises his bottle in a ironic toast. "He's got the courage of his convictions, I'll give him that."

“I’d give him more if those convictions weren’t a daily pain in the ass.”

Pike snorts, rolling his eyes in agreement. Thelonious Jaha, Born Again: there are days he still can't believe the man who took the senate floor and so cooly argued for entry into conflict after conflict is now arguing that God alone will save the country from ruin. He always had been a stubborn son of a bitch.

This time, that single minded determination has made him borderline unelectable at the national level— _that's_ the real godsend. Marcus will be a hell of a fight, but Pike’s sure he has a real (if slim) chance to win it. Throw Thelonious in the mix as he’d once been, and they’d split the vote between them, shutting him out entirely. The reminder of why he came steels his spine, and he turns in his stool so he can face Bellamy head on.

"Look, I’ll give it to you straight, no games. I'm not going to throw in the towel. I'm going to fight this one to the end, and I’m going to win." His voice rings with an assuredness that borders on prophecy—it's what the country needs, and he can’t accept defeat before he's exhausted all the options and forced the voters to decide for themselves. "You can take that back to Kane if you want, let him interpret it however he wants, but I'm not telling you that to rattle his cage. He already knows how I operate."

"If you wanted to pass a message to him, you’ve got his number. He told us you called.” Bellamy’s eyes narrow, long fingers picking at the edges of his beer’s label. “So why are you telling _me_ this?"

There it is. Bellamy knows, Pike can tell, but he needs to hear it and Pike needs to say it to make it real.

"Because I want you to _help_ me win." The words feel good coming out, cementing his surety this is the right choice to make even as it exposes his flank to attack.

Bellamy’s mouth gapes, a nervous bark of laughter escaping his throat. “You’re joking.”

“Not remotely.” He takes a sip of beer, enjoying the play of emotion his words provoke. “I want to offer you a job. And I know you won't take it—not right now, at least. You're a loyal man. It's part of why I want you on my team.”

“I’m happy where I am, thanks.”

He is, and he isn’t. The more hardline foreign policy opinions coming from Marcus’ people on have the Blake stamp practically embossed on each sentence, but they only appear as glimmers. If his read is right and Bellamy’s not pleased with the soft pedaling, it doesn't take a mind reader to know that’s why he hasn’t walked away from the bar already.

“Kane's a good man. I agree with his domestic agenda, and if he wins he’ll be a good president. Maybe even a great one.” Pinning Bellamy with his gaze, Pike goes in for the kill. “But as-is, his foreign policy is a disaster in the making. We're transitioning into a world of constant war, and he isn't currently ready to handle that reality.” He pauses, the better to let his words settle in. “We both know I'm right.”

“ _Secretary_ Kane’s focus is on diplomacy and deescalation.” Bellamy’s eyes flicker away, and Pike feels victory brushing its fingers against the back of his neck, urging him on. “And my focus is on getting him elected so he can accomplish those goals.”

“Good answer.” The Bellamy Blake he’d met at Pendleton could never have fielded that question so gracefully. “I know when I’m beat. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I hope you’re still willing to sit and have a beer with me.”

Ducking his head to hide a pleased smile, Bellamy shrugs. “As long as you’re not going to hold the no against me, why not?”

“I’ll make you a deal.”

“Mmm?”

“I won’t hold the no against you if you won’t hold me asking again later against _me_.” Bellamy looks uncomprehending, and Pike laughs. It’s been a long time since he was that naive. “Son, how do you think I got to where I am? It certainly wasn’t by taking every ‘no’ as gospel. I want you on my staff. I’m not about to turn tail and run at the first battle lost.”

“Because you think you’ll win the war?”

“If I have you, I will.” His blunt assessment leaves Bellamy looking poleaxed, and Pike takes a drink before continuing to provide cover for him to collect himself. “But I won’t hold it against you if it’s always a no, either. I like to think I’m an attractive enough candidate, maybe I’ll take the whole damn thing on my own.” The sardonic quirk to his brow displays exactly how likely that is without the kind of shakeup poaching Bellamy could bring.

“You’re doing all right. If I were gonna come work for you, I’d say I like the look of your numbers.”

“Yeah, but what you like doesn’t matter as long as long you’re voting for the other guy.” Pike’s grin is wide and inviting and Bellamy smiles back, relieved.

“They’re good numbers, good enough to get airtime on the Sunday shows. You’ll get a solid national team together, you don’t need me.”

“Maybe not, but good people are hard to find these days—at least, good people Kane hasn't already planted his flag in. You can tell him I said he owes me a drink for Monroe in particular. I had my eye on her when she was a fresh faced kid out of nowhere and he was still doing his hair like a Republican, the bastard.” He chuckles and takes a sip. “Speaking of, how's that sister of yours? Still think I'm a 'vote-splitting DINO prick'?”

Bellamy winces. “Did she really say that?”

“Only once my back was turned. Plausible deniability.” He waves off Bellamy’s concerned look. “She’s outspoken, and she’s loyal. You did good with that one.”

“She did good all on her own.”

“It can’t be both?”

Bellamy shrugs, shifting in his seat a little at the praise and then changing the subject. “I saw one of your TV spots on the Vie Show last night. They’re compelling.”

“You think? I'm not thrilled with the logo, but my vote carried less weight than I'd like it to with the rest of the team.” The frontrunner can pick whatever logo he wants and accept the dire consequences if middle America doesn’t connect with those colors or that font or any number of ridiculous concerns, but he doesn’t have that luxury.

“What else are staff for, if not to tell you you’re wrong?”

“That's what they keep saying too. I thought it was so I'd always have coffee when I want it, but I'm just the man running for president. What do I know?” He drains the rest of his beer and stands, shrugging his coat back onto his shoulders. “I should head home, but let’s do this again. Here, I’ll give you my card.” Bellamy stares at his hand as he slides it across the bar along with enough cash for both their drinks. “Give me a call next time you’ve got a free night and we’re both in town, we can go someplace with food.”

“...yeah.” Pocketing the card and leaving the cash on the bar, Bellamy gives a noncommittal nod. “Yeah, sure. If I can find the time.”

“Tell Monroe I said hello. And think about the job, all right?”

Bellamy’s answer is more of a mutter than anything else, but Pike can’t think that he’s won this battle: he _will_ think about it, and probably more than he’d like to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHIP DISCLAIMER: as this is baby's first Bellarke and my MO tends to be heavy on the shipping, here's my fair warning right up front: if you're here mainly for the ship part of this you're going to be disappointed. I do plan to do some side shippy one-offs for fun, but this is more about my weird need to take the non-fandom half of my life and insert into it the fandom half. While this is going to be Bellarke and Kabby endgame, UST is the main name of the game.
> 
> A second note, because it might be needed: I don't hate Lexa and do not plan to villainize her, so if fic where Lexa is portrayed mostly tangentially but positively and is in a relationship with Clarke for a decent chunk of it isn't your jam this also won't be for you.
> 
> That said, goddamnit Erin since when do I write Bellarke, this is your fault, I love you.


	2. the free way of life proposes ends, but it does not prescribe means.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > _we will fight up close, seize the moment and stay in it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "hey sarah, you know what everybody wants right now"
> 
> "in the year of our lord, 2018, when there are five news cycles a day and every single one sucks"
> 
> "they want MORE POLITICS"
> 
> "15k of sweet sweet wonkery and chris cillizza in-jokes, that's the ticket"
> 
> things nobody EVER SAID, but i'm doing this to myself anyway.

“Did you see this?”

When Bellamy arrives Monday morning, Kane is still stuck in traffic and the office is already in a state of cheerful, leaderless anarchy over the latest CBS poll.

“ _Bellamy_. Did you see this?” Octavia says it again, louder this time, then grins and shoves her phone in his face without waiting for an answer. “A year and change to go, and we’re polling ahead of the _entire field_. Left, right, and proverbial center.” She shakes it in a frenetic victory dance, making the text blur and his headache deepen.

“It’s good to be king.” Miller holds up his hand for a high five without looking up from his own screen, and Monroe obligingly slaps it from her seat on the edge of the table.

Lincoln laughs along with the rest of them, but there’s something anxious about the set of his shoulders. “Hate to burst the bubble, but Pike’s up too.” Itching at the stubble on his jaw, he dodges Octavia’s half-hearted swat. “Hit me all you want, we still need to keep an eye on him. He’s certainly got his trained on us.”

His words make the coffee Bellamy tossed back before stumbling into the shower churn in his stomach. He looks down at his bag, pretending to reach inside for the laptop he won’t need until after Kane arrives and officially ends the senior staff morning bull session in favor of the jobs he actually pays them to do.

“Bitch, do _not_ kill my vibe,” Miller shoots back, and Monty snorts in amusement. “He hasn’t even broken thirty, and we’re acting like he’s already nipping at our heels. If we keep taking this guy seriously, so will everybody else.”

“Put me down as team don’t kill the vibe, but for the record: that’s not entirely how it works, or I’d be out of a job.” Harper leans back in her chair and sighs. “But Miller’s not wrong, in terms of telegraphing our anxiety. If _some_ of us would quit appearing on the Sunday shows intending to talk about our mental health initiative only to get derailed into a rant about a guy we keep saying we’re not worried about, it would make that aforementioned job far less stressful.”

“Yeah, guys. What kind of dick would do that,” Octavia deadpans from the head of the table, and Harper throws a pen her way.

“You’re not _heeeeel-ping_ ,” she sing-songs. Octavia throws the pen back at her, cackling when it thwacks her on the shoulder.

Bellamy tries to smile and laugh with everyone else when Harper makes an ostentatious show of retrieving the pen one-handed, but guilt sits like a stone in his stomach and steals any enjoyment he might find in the morning ritual that keeps all of them moving and cohesive and un-indicted for murder when stress gets high.

“Why are you making that face?”

His head jerks up at Octavia’s question, and the stone doubles in size at the suspicion carving a furrow between her eyebrows.

He coughs, then wishes he could take it back. Octavia was always too good at sensing weakness as a five year old; now that she’s an adult political operative, his every twitch might as well be a neon sign. “What face?”

“ _That_ face.”

“I’m not making a face, Octavia.” Guiltily, he does his best to arrange his features into the mock-scorn he’d use if she weren’t pouring salt onto an already painful wound. “My face is the same as ever.”

“You kind of are making a face though,” Harper says apologetically. “Sorry, but it’s definitely not your usual morning expression.”

“Okay, new topic: why exactly are my co-workers cataloguing my various facial contortions, and how do I make it stop?” Even he can hear the note of strain that underlies the joke.

Octavia narrows her eyes at him. “And now the face just added an equally weird voice as its plus-one. What gives, did something happen?”

He glances around the table, taking in each drama-loving turncoat pointedly, then back at his sister. “It’s nothing, O.”

“Which means it’s _not_ nothing.” She plants both palms on the table and leans forward, lowering her voice to imitate a bad cop in the gangster movies he never should have let her watch. “You better ‘fess up willingly. If you wanna be a tough guy, we got ways of making you talk.”

“Octavia, leave him alone.”

Bellamy thanks the universe one more time for Lincoln. “Thanks, man. Just so you know, I’m keeping you in the divorce.”

Octavia is less pleased. “Traitor.” She pokes Lincoln in the chest with one finger, making him laugh. “Fine, whatever. Take his side, see if I care.” Her gaze swings back to Bellamy, and he squirms under the careful examination. “You absolutely know you’re making a weird face, I want that on-record. Harper, note it.”

“So noted.”

Bellamy smiles in spite of the lingering acrid taste of shame. “Fine, it’s not nothing. But it’s also not a big deal, and I need to talk to Kane about it first. Then you can interrogate me yourself.”

“Your verb, not mine.” She shoves her chair back with a bang and flounces off to the coffee maker, leaving Bellamy to laugh wryly and turn back to stare down the rest of the table until they all experience a sudden, burning desire to get coffee alongside Octavia.

Lincoln is the only one who refuses to budge. He steps closer and says quietly, “‘Drop it’ signals received, but I have to say she’s not wrong about the face. Even if you can’t tell me the details… is everything all right?”

Bellamy sighs and good-naturedly concedes the point. “This is why I don’t play poker with you people anymore. It’s nothing to sound the alarm bells about, just…” Grappling for words and finding them all lacking, he shrugs helplessly. “It’s ultimately not a big deal, but when she finds out why I’m jumpy this morning I’d rather not be in the vicinity.”

“Ultimately not a big deal or not, is it anything I need to prep the team for? I don’t have to tell them it came from you.” Lincoln’s concern deepens into worry, and Bellamy waves him off.

“No, no, it’s not a campaign problem. I got an unexpected job offer, is all, and I don’t know how I feel about it.” He snorts. “Little advice? Invest in earplugs, because she’s going to take this one to an eleven when she finds out.”

“That’s my girl.” Lincoln claps him on the shoulder, the touch gentle in a way that belies his strength. “As long as you’re okay, I’m satisfied.”

“Lincoln. Bellamy. Is everything all right?” Kane sets his coffee down and pauses mid-way through removing his coat to peer at them with confusion. Lincoln gives one last comforting squeeze and nods a greeting at Kane, then melts away, leaving Bellamy to face admitting what happened at Arkadia alone.

“Yeah, I just need a minute to talk. It’s not a big deal, just… look, can we do this in your office?” Over at her desk, Octavia looks ready to fly apart at the seams, she’s struggling so hard to hear them, so Bellamy pitches his voice louder just to watch her scowl. “ _Alone_?”

“Of course.”

Once they’re seated behind his door Kane sits and peers at him with silent expectation, taking up a pen and starting to make idle notes on the rally speech for Wednesday while he waits for Bellamy to come out with it already.

The stone in his stomach has transformed itself to a boulder, choking off his voice. He finds himself as wordless as he’d been with Lincoln, and he builds his courage by treading ground he’s already covered. “I got a job offer this weekend.”

Knowledge blooms on Kane’s face, like Bellamy explained everything and not just the barest bones of his disloyalty. His smile tip-tilts the the corner of his mouth, both bitter and indulgent at once.

“So Charles made his play, then?”

Shock floods Bellamy, followed by fear and then by anger when he thinks about the conversation he’d had with Murphy after the ride home from Arkadia. “...who told you? I didn’t see anything in the blind items, and I even texted Murphy to see if anybody’d been talking about me on his end. That lying little rat—”

Kane cuts him off, the tinge of bitterness washed from his face by gentle humor. “No, he was right. I didn’t hear a word. But Pike’s a smart man, and he’s always liked you.” His eyes go soft, sympathy obvious in his voice. “And you like him, too.”

It’s hardly an accusation but Bellamy still colors, cheeks burning hotly. “I told him no. Unequivocally.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t. But there’s a reason you look like you didn’t get any sleep, and it’s not because he offered you a job.”

“Sir, I’m not going to take it. You have to believe me.”

Kane’s eyebrows inch up with what looks like genuine surprise. “Of course I do.”

“But you said—”

“That you like him. I’d venture enough so that you might have said yes if he had declared first.”

Bellamy nods miserably, watching as Kane drifts off in thought, pen forgotten in his hands. “Sir, I’m sorry…”

Kane comes back to himself and blinks at him in confusion. “Why? You have nothing to be sorry for.” Bellamy makes to protest and he holds up a hand to quiet him. “You’re an adult and a talented speechwriter. Why shouldn’t Charles want to hire you as much as I did? I won’t lie and say I’m not vaguely smug I beat him to it, but there’s no fault in either of you for this.”

Relief chips away at the boulder, but Kane isn’t the only hurdle to clear. “Octavia’s not going to feel that way. Neither is Miller.”

“Octavia and Miller can be, on occasion, somewhat black and white in their thinking. If there are any problems, let them know I don’t need white knights to protect me from an attempt to poach my senior staff.” A thought crosses over his features and he pins Bellamy to the spot with a searching look. “You do know I wouldn’t have been angry if you had accepted his offer, don’t you?”

“...Sir?”

“Disappointed, maybe, but not angry.”

Bellamy feels his brief panic fade into desire to prove he’d rather gnaw off a limb than give the man he’s given his life over to getting elected cause to be disappointed in him. All the sleepless nights and the need for prescription strength anti-acids and the headaches are worth it, if the road they walk deposits them at the front door of 1600 Penn. “I’d never disappoint you like that, sir. Not like that.”

“Bellamy, I wouldn’t be disappointed in _you_. I’d be disappointed because you’re an integral part of this team, and I’ve come to rely on you.” Kane shakes his head, spine straightening as he becomes the man Bellamy writes speeches for before his eyes, and not the quieter version that exists off-stage. “You work for me because you believe in me. I don’t want loyalty I haven’t done the work to earn, and to _keep_ earning. If you took the offer, it would be because you believed he could do a better job as president. Faulting you for that would be all the evidence you could need I never deserved your loyalty in the first place.”

Heart thumping out a frantic tattoo against his breastbone, Bellamy tries to force the certainty and respect he feels into each nook and cranny of his reply. “That’s why I work for _you_ , sir. Not Pike.”

Kane’s smile is fond. “You’re a good man, Bellamy. I hope you don’t doubt I know that.”

Saluting had been a regular part of his day for years, but Bellamy never quite managed to put the feeling implied by the gesture into sketching that ritualistic motion. It had only ever been protocol, not passion.

Now, standing in a poorly-ventilated DC office, knees brushing the front of an Ikea desk Miller nearly broke his thumb assembling, his fingers itch to finally do it _right_. He settles for a sharp nod, and Kane nods back.

“If that’s all?”

“It is, sir.”

“Well, then. Thank you for telling me, but as far as I’m concerned it’s nothing we need to brief the team on. ...though, if you _want_ to share this with the rest of them, that’s fine, of course.” He looks down at his laptop and sighs. “Can you tell Octavia I need her?”

“Yessir.” He catches Octavia’s eye once he’s out the door and jerks his thumb at Kane’s office. “He wants to see you.”

She wrinkles her nose. “You’re going to run away and pretend you have a desperate need to work at the satellite office today once I get in there, aren’t you?”

“I would never.”

“You would _always_.” Her eyes soften, and she takes a step forward. “Seriously, though, Bell. You’re okay, right? If you’re going to be all weird and mysterious about this, I at least need to know you’re not in trouble.”

Images of the child she’d been flash behind his eyes and Bellamy tugs her in for a quick hug, brushing a kiss across her forehead. “I’m okay, O. Promise.”

“Good.” She plants an elbow in his gut, leaving him bent over double and wheezing as she sashays towards Kane’s office and closes the door with an ironically gentle click.

Bellamy looks up only to catch Monroe’s quietly amused eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Her lips twitch. “Never said anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get back to work.” He straightens, running a hand through his hair. “If anybody asks, I had to head downtown to talk to Collins. He wants me on background for his latest piece, and he made it clear if it’s not me he’s going to pull somebody from Pike’s team, instead.”

Monroe perks up. “Lunch meeting?”

“And use up his expenses budget on somebody else?” Bellamy scoffs and shakes his head. “Coffee.”

“Cheap bastard.” She tosses him a lazy salute and turns back to her work, telltale smirk at the corners of her mouth. “Get me some too and I’ll tell Octavia about the Collins thing, not that you ran away from your kid sister.”

“You know, there’s _no_ loyalty in this office. Traitors to every side. But yeah, I’ll grab you something black and suitably tar-like on my way back, okay?”

Monroe laughs and flashes him a thumbs up, and the last knot of tension in his stomach eases. Pike’s offer might have worked out in some other world, but in _this_ one Bellamy’s already right where he’s supposed to be.

 

* * *

 

`**m.kane**  
` Shot across the bow received.``

`**c.pike**  
` Can you blame me?``

`**m.kane**  
` You might have told me you were going to ask him.``

`**c.pike**  
` I’m not sure what Sun Tzu would have to say about that.``

`**c.pike**  
` I won’t hold it against you if you’d like to try it with Gillmer in revenge.``

`**m.kane**  
` I hope you also won’t hold it against me if I withstand that temptation.``

`**c.pike**  
` He’s a good man and he could bully a monk into donating, but there are certain downsides to his talents.``

`**m.kane**  
` I recognize the type.``

`**m.kane**  
` Rather than pursue Gillmer, I think I’ll overstep my bounds as well and then we can call ourselves even.``

`**m.kane**  
` Are you going to ask Bellamy again?``

`**c.pike**  
` Yes.` `

`**c.pike**  
` I’m not going to stop asking him until I get a yes or he tells me he doesn’t want to hear it, Marcus. I want to win this.` `

`**c.pike**  
` I’ll apologize for not giving you the heads up before I did it the first time, but I can’t be sorry for trying to hire the people I need to finish the job.` `

`**m.kane**  
` And you shouldn’t be.` `

`**m.kane**  
` All the same, I can’t be sorry for being happy he said no.` `

`**c.pike**  
` You shouldn’t be.` `

`**c.pike**  
` You want an olive branch, you can tell the president I’ll vote partyline on the decommissioning bill yourself.` `

`**m.kane**  
` You called it a placebo and said you wouldn’t have your name attached to it.` `

`**m.kane**  
` What made you change your mind?` `

`**c.pike**  
` Expedience. Experience. Maybe a little bit of optimism.` `

`**c.pike**  
` If this is what the party gets behind, I’ll take the chance. ` `

`**m.kane**  
` I know you have your doubts, but it’s a strong piece of legislation.` `

`**c.pike**  
` I’m ready to be proved wrong.` `

`**m.kane**  
` You won’t regret it.` `

`**c.pike**  
` I’ll hold you to that. See you at the debate, Marcus. ` `

`**m.kane**  
` Until October, Charles.` `

 

* * *

 

_Before I kick things over to Tor Lemkin for The Final Say, one last piece of news: the latest polling out of Monmouth has Charles Pike at a new high of twenty seven percent. That’s still a long way from where Secretary Kane is still holding strong at a more than respectable fifty nine, but I’d keep an eye on this race if I were you. I’ve been wrong before and I’m sure I’ll be wrong again, but if I were a betting woman I’d head to Vegas and put everything on this race tightening up considerably as we move out of the fall. We’re just about halfway through September and with just a little under a year to go until the whole shebang and the first debate coming up fast, I think maybe it’s time to take the battle for the Democratic nomination seriously._

_All right, that’s all for us tonight. Tor has an interview with Octavia Blake coming up next and I’m sure she’s seen these numbers herself by now, so be sure to stay right here and see what the Kane campaign has to say about my inevitably less-than popular gut predictions. Tor?_

 

* * *

 

“How you doing, Gillmer?” Pike digs his thumb into the seemingly now-permanent knot just above the base of his skull and stares at a spreadsheet, the endless red that makes up their expenditures taunting him with its dominance over the page. “Time out of the bubble treating you right?”

“New York’s muggy as hell right now, and Wall Street’s always gonna be goddamned Wall Street. Being in this dump makes being back in DC look good again.”

Pike’s cheeks crease into a grin, and he doesn’t bother to hide a low, appreciative chuckle. It’s never done for his benefit, but Gillmer’s matter-of-fact negativity always makes him smile. “Speaking of, how’s the effort? We occupying them yet?”

“No banks, not yet, but I got some old oil money on the hook if you can stomach it.” On his end, Gillmer pauses to take a bite of something and then speaks through the full mouth, turning his words shapeless around the edges while blunting none of their effect. “Then I found a couple mid-level MI complex lifer types who like your record on the DOD subcommittee and are willing to donate in exchange for a sitdown and a promise or two. Pick your poison.”

“...Seriously?” Pike sits up with a thump, knees hitting the edge of the desk. He bites back an angry curse and massages the ache. “What, big pharma wouldn’t bite?”

“No, they wouldn’t.” Gillmer is merciless as ever. “You won’t shut up about insurance caps, it’s a problem for them. _They_ won’t give us a red cent without the kind of promises I won’t even bother asking if you’d be willing to make.”

“Well… shit.”

“Yeah.”

Pike knows the answer before he speaks, but the question still tumbles out with no small amount of resignation. “We really can’t do this without getting in bed with these assholes?”

“Depends. You gonna kill a handful of our problems with one stone and marry yourself a ketchup heiress in the next couple weeks?”

“Can’t say I’ve found any I like enough to marry.”

“Then you know the drill, sir: unless you start spinning straw into gold with small dollars or yank a couple dissatisfied big ticket party donors off the fence and onto our side, get a move on finding that heiress or suck it up and pick your poison.”

“Thought you might say that.” He’s so _tired_ , so sick of the endless dance. Allowing in self-pity for a moment, Pike exhales loudly. The battered copy of _The Weary Blues_ crammed into the overflowing bookshelf in the corner catches his attention, and he snorts in bitter amusement. “‘Whole damn world’s turned cold’, huh.”

“...sir?”

“Nothing.” He draws in a deep, bracing gulp of air. “All right. All right, for now let’s play to our strengths and go with the defense lobbyists. At least then maybe the cost of my soul might be a break in any potential estimates for the defense budget we have to throw together down the line.”

“That’s the spirit.” Gillmer pauses, oddly hesitant. “Look, all we have to do is make it on our own until Kane concedes. Once you’re the nominee, I can start coordinating some hand-in-hand fundraisers with the D-Trip and milk the party apparatus for every cent they got. The DNC’s warchest is out of control right now.” He laughs, an unkind bark of sound. “Must be nice to have the party establishment already on your side. President Griffin’s been hauling ass to rake in the bucks for her boy. Lucky, entitled son of a bitch.”

“That lucky son of a bitch might well beat us, so watch yourself,” Pike says mildly, waiting for Gillmer’s grumble of agreement before he continues. “I’m serious. If we lose I’m going to haul some ass myself to get Kane elected in the general regardless of where he lands on the veep nom, and I want you with me.”

“He’s not going to beat us.”

“Gillmer.”

“He’s _not_ gonna beat us.”

“ _Gillmer_ , listen to me.” He waits a moment, letting the gravity of his request sink in across the line and work its way through Gillmer’s shield of stubborn, angry loyalty. “He might, and I need to know you’re with me after that. No matter what happens to this campaign. What do you say?”

“I say we’re not gonna need to bother having this talk, so it’s not gonna matter either way.”

“Cut the BS and listen. I want you with me after the primaries, no matter which way it shakes out. How copy?”

After a long, heavy pause, Gillmer exhales in a rush and concedes. “Solid copy, sir. No matter what happens, I got your six on this.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Whatever. Just throw around some charm in the debate. Get Bryan to tell you whatever the hell kids on the internet will like and say that. Make somebody a meme, whatever the fuck that is. Just keep me from having to work for that prick.”

Pike’s lips twitch. “I said watch the mouth, Gillmer. You let Kane’s people hear you talking like that at the debate, I’m gonna let Hannah beat you to death and bury you in the CNN greenroom like she keeps asking whenever you run into Octavia Blake.”

“Yeah, yeah. Kick some ass, sir. You got this.”

“Oorah, Gillmer. See you Wednesday.”

 

* * *

 

It barely takes an hour before Marcus knows he’s fighting a losing battle.

The air conditioner in the hall is broken, the lights are too bright, and the crowd’s rising loss of patience with the proceedings echoes his own. Worst of all, there may be four other candidates on stage, but only one has managed to poll past ten percent support and give the press a more interesting story to tell than a party peacefully coming together to support their chosen candidate. He’d been counting on the others as a buffer between his weak areas contrasted directly against Charles’ strengths, but with each passing question the debate solidifies into a head to head.

He finds himself losing hold of the carefully distilled answers Harper drilled into his brain in favor of the more complicated ones needed to create a substantive policy argument and running up against his time limit far too soon to make any point at all. The ding of the bell makes him twitch; a _bell_. Like he’s a Jeopardy contestant and not a contender for the highest elected office in the country.

“I’m afraid that’s the end of your time yet _again_ , Secretary.” The moderator cuts him off mid-word, mouth pursed in annoyance she stopped trying to hide when he tried to joke that she might ask someone other than himself or Charles a question. “Senator Pike, the next question is for you….”

Marcus squints against the glare as Pike takes in his question, the words becoming background noise as he tries to scan the crowd. Abby’s attendance would be out of the question, but beyond the edge of the audience is his team and a few of his key allies from his time in the Senate.

Try as he might, the effort only makes his eyes water. Blinking rapidly, he smooths out his expression and looks back down at his notes, hearing Octavia’s hissed admonitions and Lincoln’s gentler critique about his less helpful tendencies from their practice sessions in the back of his mind.

A sharp edge drags along his back, and Marcus fights back the urge to twitch. Thanks to his habit of losing weight on the trail, they’d had to use a safety pin to make his shirt pass Octavia’s pre-debate inspection. He shifts again and the metal carves another shallow line into his skin, dragging his concentration away from the moment once more. He’ll look like a fidgeting child on-camera if he attempts to adjust it, but left alone the damned thing is slowly driving him insane.

He stews in indecision until he hears his name. God only knows what he missed, focusing on his own discomfort.

“I don’t doubt the Secretary’s heart. He’s a good man, one I’ll be proud to support should he beat me. But I got into this race for a reason, and with all due respect to Marcus my honest answer is that I think he should take a break from DC. Maybe head back home, see how people are getting by in the town where he grew up. I know when I do the same, I see what our disconnect in the capitol has cost them.”

Irritation shoots through him, loosening his tongue and obscuring his view of the trap yawning open at his feet. “You may have missed the news, Charles, but I was in my hometown last _week_.”

“On a campaign. I hear that a lot, too. That elected officials don’t care until it’s time to make some promises and win some votes, then come spring...” Charles lifts one shoulder in a soft, suggestive shrug. “I swung through your hometown too, and they told me it’s been about eight years or so since they’d seen you there.”

Since he was last running for president. Marcus struggles not to grimace at a point fairly scored. “As Secretary of State, I’d like to think I can be allowed a little leeway for the emphasis on _foreign_ travel in my itinerary. At the end of the day diplomacy has as much to do with Main St. as it does Capitol Hill, as I’m sure you know.”

“Fair enough.” Pike shrugs and shoots the audience a wry grin, and for a moment Marcus is sure he experiences the faintest sensation of air whistling past him as his old friend shoves him down into the pit he’s carved out to hold him. “Still, I said I’d pass on the message that North Adams is worth a stopover even when there’s no campaign to win. Seems to me first step to earning their vote is keeping that promise.”

The safety pin carves out another quick, hot line of pain and Marcus tastes defeat, the bitter weight sliding down his throat when he swallows. “I’ll keep the advice in mind, Charles. If you don’t have any other travel recommendations, perhaps we might get back to the debate...”

It only goes downhill after that.

 

* * *

 

“Well?” Octavia taps the space bar and turns to look at Bellamy and Monty, Marcus’ face frozen in a rictus of righteous passion on the laptop screen between them all. “What do you guys think?”

“It’s good,” Monty finally offers.

Octavia frowns. “Just good?”

“Really good,” he amends.

“It’s _perfect_ , is what it is. We can roll this out along with the new shop merch once we hit the road tomorrow. The design team killed it on the logo, I gotta say.”

“It does look great,” Monty agrees slowly. “But…”

“But _what_?”

“But you know exactly what, O.” Bellamy leans across the table to tap the figure behind Marcus and to the left, half of her face currently obscured by the sway of the flag. Even with her features hard to make out, Abigail Griffin is impossible to mistake. “You threw the president into the spot.”

“So? She signed all the releases we need.”

“Not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

Frustrated, Bellamy grits his teeth. “That she’s _in_ it, O. At all.”

“She’s in the background for all of ten seconds. You can barely _see_ her.”

Monty shakes his head, answering before Bellamy can. “This isn’t my department, but even I know it doesn’t matter. People are gonna see this as her endorsing him.”

Octavia crosses her arms over her chest. “Come on, that’s not… I mean, it’s not like she’s featured.”

“She’s standing behind him, clapping, while he gives a speech at a podium,” Bellamy points out, aggravation flooding him. “Don’t pretend to be clueless, you know what it looks like.”

“What _what_ looks like? Bell… you wrote him a great speech. Everybody loved that speech. We’re just reminding them of that,” she wheedles, but Bellamy shakes his head.

“It was a good speech, but _this_ could be any speech. There’s no audio, just the optics, and when we edit it like this it looks like he’s already accepting the nomination.” Octavia inhales, ready to launch a protest and he cuts over her, “This is going to be taken as an endorsement from the president. Don’t pretend it won’t give the press a collective aneurysm.”

“So? That’s on _them_. It’s still not an endorsement, and people can read it how they want.” Jaw set stubbornly, she cuts off Bellamy’s protest this time. “He needs this boost after Pike stole the spotlight in the debate and you know it.”

He grinds his teeth, biting back the urge to yell. “I know Kane’s gonna be pissed if we launch a couple week’s worth of Dems in disarray clickbait without his say-so.”

“Kane doesn’t know what’s good for him, and he gave me discretion on this one. It’s my call, and you know it.”

“It might be your call, but I still say it’s a bad idea.”

“And I still say you need to get over your weird crush on Pike.”

“Octavia—”

“ _Okay_ , red card on the sibling drama.” Monty pulls the laptop back in front of him, rubbing away the fingerprints they left on the screen with a long suffering sigh. “I have to back up Octavia’s right to do this admittedly iffy optics-wise thing. Kane told me she’s got the final call and I still need to get this to my team with enough lead time to finish up if we’re going to release it tomorrow. Make a call time, are we pulling the footage of President Griffin or not?”

“Octavia?” They all swing back to look at her, and Bellamy knows her answer by the mutinous angle of her chin before she opens her mouth.

“Not.”

“O…” Bellamy gives it one last try, but Monty’s already swinging into action.

“I’ll get this back to the team. You still want to drop this while he’s giving the healthcare speech?” Octavia nods, and Monty taps a few keys then closes his laptop. “All right, then. It’ll be ready.”

“You’re the best.”

Monty’s smile is a shade off the gently cocky it should be, and he fiddles with one of the little plastic novelty pumpkins they scattered around the office to make a vague stab at achieving festive. “Got that right.”

 

* * *

 

“Apologies, Secretary Kane, but it looks like we might be a little late getting there.” From the front seat, Costa offers an apologetic shrug. “I’ll do my best to get you to that meeting before sundown, but it’s a mess this morning.”

Even the ever-efficient DSS can’t control saplike flow of DC traffic. In a refreshing show of equal footing, the beltway’s maze of roads afford a cabinet secretary as much courtesy as they might a longshoreman. The landscape passing by slows to a crawl and then to a standstill, and his driver shifts in the front seat and turns to offer a wince and another helpless shrug.

“No apologies needed, it’s not your fault.” He offers Costa a small, reassuring nod. “I’m sure the president can find something to occupy her until then.”

In some ways, the delay is a blessing in disguise. There are always more than enough crises occurring at any given moment to occupy the president’s time, and the traffic gives him time to find the careful gathering of professional distance facing Abby requires now that the end of her last term begins to loom large ahead.

Duty made perfect, tidy sense before the woman he’d thrown his heart into trying to defeat offered him a position he would have denied her. He nearly hadn’t taken it, but when he _had_ he discovered his understanding of duty was hardly tidy at all.

It’s strange to think he’s nearing the end of eight years on this side of the dividing line between the inhabitant of the east wing and those who only set foot in the west. It’s only another year and change until he’ll either find himself on the other end or shut out entirely.

The thought stiffens his spine, and when they arrive and stride through security his soles slapping against the marble takes on a defiant air. The unsmiling agent at the door to the Oval nods him inside just in time to catch Abby laughing.

“I don’t _flutter_ , Jackson, you’re being ridic—Marcus, there you are. Traffic was bad?”

Jackson’s eyes narrow when Marcus returns her smile, and he tries not to wince. “Would it be anything else? I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“Of course not—”

“She had me reschedule a call with the French president,” Jackson says, and Abby shoots him a look Marcus can’t even hope to begin to interpret.

“ _Jackson_.” Her smile is a frozen curl, brows lifted halfway to her hairline. “That’s enough.”

He huffs out a sigh and raises his own eyebrows. Marcus watches with fascination as they carry on a conversation in silence, until as one they both seem to reach a detente and Jackson nods, giving Abby a respectful nod and casting one last sideways glance at Marcus before leaving them alone.

Abby watches him go with a fond irritation, evidence of the bond that made such a young man the perfect choice for a position traditionally held by someone more politically established. Yet another choice he would have found foolish before he’d seen the benefits of valuing trust like that.

“Sorry about that, it’s part of Jackson’s job to be touchy about scheduling. How was Nevada?” Abby pats his shoulder in greeting as she moves to take a seat by the low table in the middle of the room, and Marcus feels the press of her hand even after it’s gone.

“Jackson. Was he being serious? Did you really...” The half-question slips out before he can call it back.

“Did I really what?” Abby tilts her head, looking up at him in confusion.

“Did you really put off one of our most valuable allies to talk to me?”

“Don’t frown like that, Marcus, she’ll never know you were why I rescheduled, and she intimately understands a general need for flexibility. Part of the job is a reality that never matches up with your plan, I’m afraid.” Her smile goes teasing. “You’ll find that out yourself soon. Two years from now, this can be your problem, and your gray hairs.”

“They lend you a certain… gravitas.”

“Well, that’s the kindest way anyone’s ever told me the job aged me prematurely.”

Marcus blanches. “You know that’s not... I didn’t mean to imply...”

“Relax, Marcus, I was just teasing you. I know. Even eight years ago, you were better than that.” Casually, as if it barely matters, she adds, “I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this, but it’s one of the reasons I chose you for my cabinet. Even when you made an ass of yourself during the debates, you were the only one who never stooped to making it about that. I knew if you pushed back against me, it would be because you thought I was wrong.”

“I don’t know that I made an _ass_ of myself,” he manages to stammer out, even as her words turn him by turns hot and cold, anxiety and a renewal of the call to serve prickling along his spine. “Madam President…”

“ _Abby_ ,” she reminds him. “And you did, very much so. It made the other night with Pike look much less like a trainwreck. ...you know, on the scale.”

“Your gently rendered support, as ever, means the world,” he says dryly, fighting a smile. _Impossible woman._ Incredible, but impossible. “You know I prefer the respect the office.”

“ _Abby_.”

“Abby,” he relents.

“Was that so hard?” She waves at the other chair. “And while you’re making concessions, sit down. I’m going to get a stiff neck if I have to keep staring up at you.”

He nearly trips over his own feet in his rush to sit, cursing the awkwardness he could have sworn the Corps beat out of him.

“There we go,” Abby nods in satisfaction, giving his knee an encouraging nudge with his own. “I thought you’d be spending time in Mahogany Row today if you weren’t at the campaign office, not swinging over here. Is everything all right?”

“I came to apologize for the ad we released last week.” Regret and frustration steal the pleasure of sitting in this room as equals. “I don’t know who missed the optics on your side, but I gave Octavia the final say, and I underestimated her—”

“Oh, no one missed the optics.”

“...I’m sorry?”

“I have approximately a thousand people we hired _solely_ to tell me what other people are going to think of what I do.” She shakes her head, amused. “Of course no one missed it, Marcus. My people bother me about the optics of the _sleeves_ I wear. If I decide I want to cut my hair, they want to run six focus groups first and see what _they_ think about it.”

Torn between outrage on her behalf and confusion, Marcus can only blink. “So why…”

“Because they warned me, then I thanked them then went ahead and gave her the okay anyway. I had to call her myself,” she adds with a wince. “Callie said the only person she wasn’t allowed to murder for turning the briefing room into hell on earth was me, so it seemed only fair to do the deed myself.”

“I—you did _what_?”

“I called Octavia myself,” she repeats, as if wading into the fray on his behalf this early was always a foregone conclusion. “She said someone needed to change the narrative after you making an ass of yourself in a debate again, and I agreed.”

He groans. “ _Abby_.”

“What? It’s not an official endorsement. And the waiting’s just a formality.”

“It’s not about official, it’s about what’s _fair_.”

“It’s pretending what everyone already knows isn’t true.”

“Just because the press can’t help but build a more exciting narrative…”

“They do love a horse race, but this time it’s not the press jumping at shadows. Not when it comes to where I stand on things.” She catches his eyes, emphasizing her words. She may throw the words off lightly, but Marcus can barely breathe for their weight. He feels suspended in time, electrified down to his marrow. _I want you to continue my legacy, Marcus. I want you I want you I want you_.

He makes a concentrated effort at swallowing, forcing words out past emotion. “How could I say no to that?”

“Exactly.” With a pleased little nod, she signals the matter closed and he’s only too willing to follow her lead. “Speaking of Pike, have you floated adding him to the ticket yet?”

“Not yet. Why, do you think I should?”

“I think a choice like that is best left to you.”

“ _Abby_.”

“Fine.” She pauses. “I think… you could do worse. And in some ways, he’d balance the ticket nicely. You can be tarred with the establishment label, and he can’t. You’re dragging in the South and barely pulling out a lead in the Rust Belt, and Pike’s numbers are best there.” After a moment, she grudgingly adds, “And I suppose he’s got a certain amount of charm. People like him.”

“But?”

“But I don’t think he’ll be satisfied sitting on his hands when he doesn’t support your agenda.”

“You think he wouldn’t come to me?”

“No, he’d come to you, but if he were in Sinclair’s place I worry he’d try and force my hand if he couldn’t change my mind. A minor leak is all it takes sometimes, Marcus, you know that.”

The urge to defend his old friend rises. “Abby…” he slumps in his chair, unable to deny the reality of her read on the risks of taking on a second unwilling to stay quiet about his own policy positions for half a decade. “Charles never did like inaction.”

Tactfully, Abby ignores how much the idea pains him. “Really, Marcus, you ought to think about Indra. She’s been our most reliable ally in the house, but she’s restless there. The bully pulpit might appeal more.”

“I’ll talk to her.” A far more immediate doom than maybes about Charles beckons first, though. “After I get back from my next required tour in hell.”

Abby laughs, sound bouncing off the walls merrily. “A week on a campaign bus isn’t _that_ bad, Marcus.”

“You’re right,” he says dryly, holding back a smile, “it’s _worse_.”

“There, there.” Standing, she grabs a bulging plastic bag from beside the Resolute desk. “Before you go, here.”

He takes it without thinking, blinking when the unexpected weight drags his arm down. “ _Oof_. What’s in there, your spare change collection?”

“Leftover Halloween candy.”

“Abby, it’s nearly Thanksgiving.”

“Exactly my point. They forced it on me by the bucket in October and I’m _still_ trying to get rid of it all.”

“So you’re going to force it on me?”

“You serve at the pleasure, don’t you? And right now, that involves taking a bag of candy. Look, you don’t have to eat it yourself. You can give it to your kids.”

“I’ll tell my _staff_ they owe their new bounty to you,” he says primly, knowing his embarrassed pleasure in on full display.

She grins. “Tell them the president said kick some ass, too. You’ve all got a primary to win for me.”

He’s never wanted to promise he’ll obey an order from his commander in chief more, but a cautious voice inside holds him back. “No promises in elections, you know that. I’ll do my best.”

“Do or do not,” she intones, cackling when Jackson pops his head in and rolls his eyes with an audible sigh. “There is no try. All right, Jackson, I see you. Marcus—try to have fun on the bus.”

Her laugh follows him out the door, just as it had welcomed him in.

 

* * *

 

`**c.griffin**  
` heard the testimony this week means you’re holding down the mothership on your own this week while the rest of the squad’s breaking in the campaign bus.``

`**c.griffin**  
` want some noodles and a friendly face and maybe an hour away from the office?``

`**b.blake**  
` Y E S``

`**b.blake**  
` it’s been a bitch of a week, pho and a beer sounds like heaven.``

`**c.griffin**  
` meet you out front in ten? we can walk down to our old takeout place, it’s only half a mile.``

`**b.blake**  
` you’re saving lives tonight.``

 

* * *

 

“So whose lives am I saving, exactly?”

Bellamy cracks open his beer with the opener tied to the table, then passes it to Clarke so she can do the same. “A couple of our interns. Good kids, they’re just…”

“Young, well-intentioned and driving you crazy?”

He thinks of the half-contained chaos waiting for him back at the office. “Something like that, yeah.” His lips twitch, and he leans back in his chair to study Clarke and sip his beer. She looks good; tired, a little older than the version of her that lives in his head and constantly judges his takeout choices, but good. “It reminds me a little of us when you got your mom to endorse that anti-logging bill halfway through the campaign.”

“It’s really that bad over there, huh?” But Clarke grins back, eyes sparkling. “I don’t miss the hours or the endless stress, but I wouldn’t mind zapping back there for a day or two. It was like summer camp… if summer camp meant the difference between winning and losing the most important job in the world.”

“Coulda just said it was like theatre camp.” Clarke’s laugh is loud enough a couple halfway across the restaurant turns to glare, and Bellamy feels a knot of tension in his chest ease. “I get what you mean. It was fun, even when it wasn’t.”

“Cheers to that.” They toast across the table, then Clarke smacks her lips happily. “I haven’t been to this place in ages, I forgot how much I like the beer.”

The arrival of their food distracts Bellamy from answering until he’s burnt at least half of his mouth raw on broth he should have just waited on and let cool.

Setting down his spoon, he takes a long pull off his own can, enjoying the bite after all that heat. “You know you could always go buy some of this beer by yourself, right? It’s not like they brew their own.”

“Not the same. Different atmosphere… different company.”

“There is that. Speaking of, how’s Lexa?”

Clarke’s face creases in a fond smile. “Good. Thrilled that Pike decided to back the bill, after all. With him back in line, we’re gonna be able get the last couple votes we need to pass that thing.”

 _Pike_. Bellamy’s hands clench around the bottle, and he nods. “It’s gonna do a lot of good. I’m happy for you guys.”

“All right, what’s _that_ face about?”

“You sound like O.”

“Your sister’s an incredibly smart woman with functioning eyes, then. Seriously, what’s up? Did something happen with Pike? Are the gloves coming off already with Kane?”

He shakes his head once, reluctant to drag the issue back up. “Nah, not them. They’re still playing it cool.” Clarke’s brow creases in concern. “It’s nothing.”

“But it’s the kind of nothing that has to do with Pike,” she presses, teeth already sunk into his exposed underbelly like only Clarke can manage. “And not Kane. And not Octavia and that asshole who works for him again, or I would have seen the Politico tweet about it.” Her eyes widen. “Wait, did something happen with Pike and _you_?”

“Yeah, but…” He sighs. “It’s really not that a big deal. It wasn’t like you’re making it sound.”

“If you don’t get to the point and tell me what it was like, I will stab you with one of these.” She brandishes her chopsticks mock-threateningly, fierce as any general. “You’re killing me with suspense here.”

When she’s got her mind made up, resisting is only wasting time with Clarke. You think he would have learned that years ago. Sighing, Bellamy relaxes into the inevitable and tells her the truth.

“Pike offered me a job.”

“... _really_?”

“Really.”

“Huh.” Nonplussed, Clarke fiddles with her beer. “He _does_ know you already have a job with the frontrunner, right? I mean, I don’t know how he could not, but…”

Bellamy snorts. “Yeah, he made the ‘I know you’d have to stab Kane in the back to say yes’ part pretty clear when he made the pitch.”

“...well.”

Back when he was working in the White House, Bellamy watched the president make a particular sound one the few occasions a reporter managed to ask her a question she’d never considered herself. It was a soft little huff, landing somewhere between respect and indignation without settling firmly on either one.

Clarke makes that same sound now. “It’s a risky move, but he was smart to try. I don’t know whether I should congratulate you or not.”

“Clarke, I’m not going to _take_ it.”

She blinks at him, puzzled. “That’s not what I meant, of course you won’t take it. You’d never do that.”

“You don’t know what I said.” Arguing he might have taken it sits wrong, but so does Clarke’s surety. “Maybe I’m still thinking about it.”

“Bellamy, you pretty obviously gave him a solid no.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. And if you haven’t noticed, you’re getting hung up on me believing the thing you were worried I might _not_ believe.” Her expression softens. “This is really messing with you, huh?”

He relents, fiddling with his spoon. “Maybe a little.”

“How’d everyone else take it?”

“Kane didn’t really care, Miller and O really did. Everybody else was on the spectrum between them, but nobody was exactly _thrilled_ about it.”

“Were you?”

“Was I what?”

“Thrilled.”

“Thrilled definitely isn’t the word for what I was.”

Clarke sets down her beer gives him the flat look that means she knows he’s stalling and doesn’t feel like indulging it. “So pick another one.”

“Just one?” The look intensifies, and he folds. “Fine, Jesus. Stop giving me that look. I don’t know. I was… conflicted, I guess.”

Graceful in victory, Clarke just nods. “How so?”

“I didn’t regret saying no, but I guess… I regretted that I couldn't say yes. That make any sense?”

“It makes perfect sense.” She takes a bite, then carries on, “How many hours did I have to listen to you try to convert people in the CPC about the complications and nuance but ultimate benefits of limited interventionism?”

“Listen?” He teases, unable to help himself. “See, I remember less listening, more one of those tree-huggers lecturing me about the limited efficacy of military interventions in the long run.”

She grins at him across the table, flicking a droplet of the last bits of soup in her bowl his way in retaliation. “I was right then and I’m still right now, but the point is most of Pike’s stances are just as close to yours as Kane’s are, and you like him. _And_ he tried to poach you, which is pretty flattering.”

“Thinking I’d just turn on Kane is flattering?”

“Honestly, Bellamy.” Clarke rolls her eyes. “He thinks you’re important, and that without you Kane won’t do as well. _That’s_ flattering. It’s okay to see the nuance in job offers _and_ foreign policy, you know.” Sighing, she looks over at the cooler near the register. “Want to grab a couple beers and some dry noodles before we go? Mom won’t stop hiding candy in my apartment like some kind of demented reverse witch from Hansel and Gretel, I need somebody to give it to before she switches to Christmas candy.”

“Appealing offer.” He stretches, then nods. “Get me some of those spicy-sweet wings too and I’ll take a whole bag when I go. Gotta feed the interns _something_.”

 

* * *

 

“Sir?” Hannah hovers near the door, face pinched. “Your three o’clock’s here.”

Pike feels a displeased expression spread across his own features. He grunts, softly, then shakes off the frustration and pins on an appropriately neutral smile. “You can go ahead and let her in.”

“Senator Pike, wonderful to see you again. How are you?” Echo’s company manners are as polished as they are meaningless.

“Getting by. And yourself?”

“Wonderful, thank you.”

Pike only bares his teeth in what loosely might be called a smile in response. She’s here for reasons he already knows he won’t like; making it easy on her would be far more politeness than is owed.

After a brief, silent standoff, Echo maneuvers herself around Hannah, who stays planted in the doorway as if she can stop the meeting by sheer force of will.

“Should we sit?”

“You’re here. Seems like we might as well.”

She ignores the barb, running her hand over the back of the chair in a way that makes him bristle before she sits down. “It’s nice to finally have found a spot in your calendar. You must be a busy man these days, but then again twenty seven percent _is_ an impressive pull for a candidate without his party’s backing.”

“The last round of polling had us up to thirty two.” From her position in the doorway, Hannah shoots Echo’s back a suspicious glare and then turns her gaze on him, disapproval clear. “Let me know if you need anything else, sir.”

“Thank you, Hannah.”

Echo laughs quietly once the door clicks and signals Hannah has finally completed her ostentatiously drawn-out exit. “She’s very protective of you.”

“She’s the best at what she does.” _A candidate without his party’s backing_ , she’d said. Pike’s suspicion begins to calcify into the beginnings of understanding. “Look, what’s this about? And before you explain, you should know I considered dodging your requests indefinitely because last time I checked, _your_ boss was calling me a Democratic thug on Fox.”

The tinge of genuine shame in her eyes edges his opinion of her up the slightest notch, but it’s swallowed up by professional, bland apology too soon to appreciate it. “An unfortunate choice of words.”

Pike snorts derisively. “ _Unfortunate_. You want this meeting to continue, we’re going to have to be straight with each other about this, at least. Unfortunate isn’t what I’d call the word we both know thug was standing in for.”

She inclines her head in capitulation. “You’re right, she knew what she was doing. But if you’re interested, she’d like to make up for it.”

Pike crosses his arms over his chest, face carefully blank. “And how would she do that, exactly?”

“She’s prepared to make a generous campaign contribution.”

 _There_ it is. “Now, why would she do that? And don’t tell me it’s an apology, we both know better.”

“Consider it a token of goodwill.”

“Cut the shit. She wants to use me to ratfuck Marcus and soften him up for your side before the general.”

Echo smiles like an unsheathed blade, and the abyss looms. “I won’t deny we have certain mutual goals when it comes to your opponent.” Pausing delicately, she tilts her head and shrugs, one sculpted brow raised. “And if you’re as confident as you say, once you have the money you need to win there won’t be a Kane candidacy left to soften.”

Gillmer’s warning hovers just behind him, whispering about debts owed and funds needed and _take it, take the deal, who cares where it comes from you know we could use that money_. Pike shakes his head, as much a denial as an attempt to drive away the ghostly, nagging demands.

“No deal. Even if I wanted to take your money, we both know I wouldn’t survive the scandal once we added you to our finance filings.”

“We thought you might say that. We’re prepared to funnel the same funds into a friendly PAC. Nothing tied to you, but unofficially you would be welcome to offer advice and we could direct the funds to cover whatever sort of advertising push you like… unrelated to the secretary, if that’s a firm line for you.”

“You people are incredible.” Pike laughs, bleakly impressed with her gall. “The ugly side of legal technicalities isn’t a game I can play. Maybe I’d never see the inside of a courtroom, but I launched my name in this town on the strength of campaign finance reform movement. It’d kill my career and you damn well know it.” He scoffs, drawing in breath easier as he eases away from the edge of the cliff. “Even if I felt like playing with house money, it wouldn’t be from you. Tell Nia to attack Marcus head-on, or find someone else to prop up. I’m not looking for her backing.”

Undaunted, Echo gives him a bland smile. “Of course, we are also prepared to start our own group working towards those same ends, without your approval, and run it entirely as we see fit. As a gesture of our… continued interest in cooperating on any future mutual interests.” She spread her fingers wide, the picture of rationality. “Entirely unaffiliated with your campaign, unofficially and not. We talked, you said you weren’t interested, and we did it anyway. Any other feelings on your part would be entirely deniable, of course.”

“Of course,” Pike murmurs, feeling the sweat at the back of his neck start to warp the careful angle of his shirt collar. “Jesus Christ, you people are relentless.” Echo only shrugs in reply. “ _Christ_ ,” he repeats, slumping back into his desk chair.

The clock ticks once. Twice. A third time, a fourth, and a fifth. Pike breathes with its passionless drone, struggling to push down his mounting sense he’s been herded into an invisible trap already.

“What happened to you, kid? I remember you, back around the time I got here you were helping Bellamy Blake draft some damn good boilerplate for the CPC.” He taps his fingers against his thigh, running down the clock while he tries to piece together all the angles she’s running and find the answer that causes his campaign the least harm. “How’d you go from fighting for a living wage to running bullyboy errands for somebody like Nia?”

Echo moistens her lips and blinks rapidly before answering, the only sign he’s managed to score a point of his own.

“Nia is the reason I have a job in Washington at all. Loyalty is important to me.” For a moment, the veneer pulls away. “I remember you, too. That’s why I think you’ll make the right call here.”

“And what exactly do you remember about me that makes you think I’d agree to this?”

“Because you currently boast a decent-sized staff for a man who has started emptying his own savings to keep the lights on. Those people believe in you. They’re counting on you, like Nia is counting on me.” The sincerity of her pitch is worse than any ruthless exploitation of his finances. “You can barely pay them and keep the campaign afloat as it is. If you fold, most of them go. Maybe you can keep a handful more if Kane taps you for VP, but there’s no guarantee he’ll do that.”

His stomach lurches. “Pretty ruthless assessment of the state of play.”

“You wouldn’t listen when I sugar-coated it. Am I wrong?” She waits until he shakes his head, then shrugs. “Then you know what you should do.”

“No disrespect, but if what you were doing before was sugar-coating it and we have much more than loyalty in common I have problems that reach far beyond keeping my campaign staff employed.”

“I really can’t tell you how far they reach, Senator. I can only offer you a solution to this particular one. You haven’t given me your answer.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, Senator. You didn’t.” She waits patiently for him to give her what she wants and give voice to his capitulation, victory clear in the pleased lines of her smile.

“You’ll use me against him, with or without my go-ahead. Marcus is going to cost your boss quite a lot of money if he wins and I’m your best choice to split his support.” Echo inclines her head in agreement. Finally, he spits the small betrayal out like the foul-tasting compromise it is. “I can’t make your choices for you. Do what you people always do, don’t do it, I don’t care and I don’t want to know. Just leave me the hell out of it.” Feigning a smile is beyond him, so he just jerks his head towards the door. “Sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got a race to run.”

“Of course. Have a wonderful afternoon, Senator. And good luck.”

Hannah opens the door before Echo reaches it, putting paid to any hope he might have held onto that she’d spare him an interrogation.

“What did she want?” Hannah wheels on him as soon as the faint tap of Echo’s heels fade away. “Don’t tell me nothing, sir. People like her always want something in exchange for their time.”

“She came to see if I’d agree to help play spoiler for Marcus. I told her we don’t need that kind of trouble, but they’re gonna use me against him either way.” He sighs, yanking at his tie and feeling incredibly old. “Goddamnit. Now I gotta call Kane’s people and warn them, in case I’m not the only one they tried to reel in. That’s going to be a fun talk.”

“...Why?” When he raises a brow in question, she elaborates, “Why call them at all?”

“Oh come on. You know why.”

“I know they’re putting out campaign material that makes it clear the president doesn’t plan to sit it out until the primary is over anymore.”

“She’s allowed to have preferences, Hannah.” Even when those preferences can damage their momentum. Sighing, Pike waves the idea off. “It’s not like her favorite in the race isn’t clear to everyone with eyes, already. That’s baked into the cake.”

“Which is _why_ she shouldn’t be playing coy with non-endorsement endorsements. This isn’t fair, sir. The team can’t fight Kane _and_ the president.”

“Hannah…”

“Sir, you said it yourself. Even if you stepped away, Nia’s people would find a wedge candidate and boost them to soften the frontrunner up for the general. It’s what they always do. Kane and his people know that.” She steps closer. “They’ve started playing with the fine print of what neutrality means. They opened this door, not you, and they shouldn’t have. But…”

“Now that it’s open, I should follow them through?” Her argument appeals more than it should. “You know I should give them the courtesy call.”

Hannah doesn’t quite dispute the point, but she hones in on his weakness as easily as Echo had, aided by precision earned through years spent in each other’s pockets. “It’s your choice, sir, but it’s not what I’d advise you to do. Not if your first priority is still _your_ campaign. But if you’ve decided to concentrate on jockeying for the second slot on the ticket...”

Echo had been right. He can keep on the senior staff even if they have to concede, but that still puts the rest of the team in the cold. God _damnit_.

“You know, the woman you said I shouldn’t even take a meeting with made a pretty similar pitch. Sure you want to side with her on anything?”

Hannah refuses the bait. “Broken clock rule. Eventually, someone from Nia’s shop had to be right about something.”

“ _Fine_.” Angry at himself and the world, Pike dry-swallows two Advil then shoves his desk drawer shut. “You’re right. If Kane’s people haven’t factored this kind of thing into their plan, that’s on them. It’s not my job to pick up the slack when Kane’s flashing his pocket ace before the river.”

“All right, then. She won’t be back, so the whole thing’s over as far as our side is concerned.” Hannah steps closer. “Charles…”

“You used to call me that a lot more.”

It’s his friend who replies and not his campaign manager, a wry smile touching her lips. “You used to be running for president a lot less.”

“I miss it.”

“I do too, sir.”

Civilian life has spoiled him. Back in the day, he could have sworn he handled the distance demanded between ranks a lot easier.

Then again, back in the day he had Marcus, in the same boat and ready to sympathize. These days they only check the first box.

“All right, Hannah, you won. I’ll leave it be. So unless I’ve got a meeting I forgot about…”

“No, you’re free until the benefit tonight.” Pausing by the door, she says, “You didn’t do anything wrong, Charles. You turned down her offer, anything else is outside your control. Try not to rake yourself over the coals for taking care of your interests first.”

Her steady confidence can’t shake the sense he’s done more than that lingers, gathering like grains of sand to sting his eyes and obscure his view of the road ahead.

Blinking hard to clear them, Pike nods. “I’ll do my best.”

 

* * *

 

“I still cannot believe Pike tried to hire you.” Octavia shoves her phone in her blazer pocket and swerves to avoid two teenagers holding homemade signs. “What the _hell_ what that?”

The complaint carries much less heat than it had two months before. Bellamy just shrugs, face purposefully straight.

“What can I say? My milkshake brings all the presidential candidates to the yard.”

“Things like that are why I also can’t believe people pay you to tell them what to say.” Octavia’s voice drips with scorn. “Such a dork. _Such_ a dork.” She shakes him off when Bellamy attempts a retaliatory noogie, ducking out of range. “Knock it _off_ , Bellamy, some of us have hair concerns beyond the artful tousle.”

“Aw, O.” Amusement warms his chest. “Don’t be cranky. We’ll be back on the struggle bus soon, then you can take a nap.”

“So you _do_ call the campaign bus that.” Finn Collins sidles up, phone out and inevitably recording. “In that case, any comment on the other Buzzfeed report that you refer to the press bus as the…”

He looks down at his phone, pretending to check the story again, and Octavia snorts. “You know _exactly_ what they said we call you people.”

“Do I?” he asks evenly. Octavia hums the _Jaws_ theme in reply, and he cracks a smile. “You call us the shark tank.”

She shrugs, pivoting in a smooth non-denial Harper would be proud of. “You would think it was cute if Pike’s people did it.”

Finn nods a confirmation, unbothered by her scorn. “He’s new. Kane’s been around too long, and you guys are with him. Pike hasn’t worn out his welcome yet. New covers a lot of sins with us.”

“He’s been in congress over a decade by now!” Octavia howls, lowering her voice when Bellamy steps on her foot and shakes his head. “He spent two terms in the house, and he’s on his second in the Senate. That’s even longer than Kane spent there.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Finn shrugs. “Nobody knew who he was, so as far as America’s concerned he just got here yesterday.”

“Because you never bother to tell them he _didn’t_! Optics journos are ruining the country, I swear to god.” Octavia breathes out slowly, and a dangerous gleam fills her eyes. “I know you’re trying to prove something, but I’m not buying into it.”

Finn stiffens. “What would I need to prove?”

“That you’re still relevant after you lost it in the field and got yourself fired.”

Bellamy nearly chokes on his own tongue. “O, I don’t think…”

“I work for a major publication, Ms. Blake.”

“You’re covering the Democratic primaries for a rich libertarian’s online outfit. One that specializes in _national security_.”

“They’ve won a Pulitzer.” Finn’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Editorializing aside, you haven’t told me what I’m trying to prove.”

“I’ve been paying attention to your byline, Collins, and you’ve been one of Pike’s biggest boosters since the day he declared.” Bellamy steps on Octavia’s foot again, but she ignores him and crowds into Finn’s space, voice deadly quiet. “After what happened, you’re looking for anything to make you worth space on the front page again. If he wins, you’re the guy who saw it coming. You’re looking to go from the journalist who took a shot at somebody to the journalist who predicted the primaries. New covers a lot of sins with you guys, right? That’s what you said.”

In the space of her speech Finn’s face goes from dead white to red, fists balling slowly at his side. For a split second, Bellamy worries he’s going to hit her.

“I’m going to remember you said that,” he breathes quietly, more to himself than Octavia. “Next time I want to seek a little relevance.”

“That’s enough of that.” Bellamy’s seen enough. “Collins, none of this was on the record. You claim we agreed to be recorded before you rolled tape, I’ll get your hard pass pulled. Give me a call next week and I’ll do some deep background to make up for this, all right?” He hustles Octavia away, waving a goodbye over his shoulder and not stopping until they’ve ducked under the security line.

“I had that handled, you know.”

Bellamy scoffs. “You were about to start a brawl in front of the press pen.”

“I could have taken him.”

“With one hand tied behind your back, but that’s not the point. You can’t antagonize the press. And I know he’s a dick, but bringing up the embed was a low blow.”

“His face is a low blow,” Octavia mutters, but after a moment she nods. “I know I shouldn’t have gone there, but _god_. He’s the worst. And so is Pike getting a free ride because nobody pays attention to the details and he’s never managed to rise above committee head and junior senator.”

It’s a cruel enough assessment he wants to defend Pike, but that’s only bound to wind Octavia tighter. “All true. But that’s how this game works, O.”

“It’s a stupid game.”

“Of course it is. It’s also the game we have to play if we want to win.”

“ _Stupid_ ,” she repeats, then wanders off to bend Lincoln’s more sympathetic ear.

Up on stage, Kane is moving into his closing.

“—we cannot allow those who would see us brought low to define the terms of the fight, or risk giving them the victory they seek. The long, complicated work of diplomacy is worth the—”

Bellamy pulls his attention away again, frown twisting his features. It’s not as hard a line as he’d thought they should take. He and Kane had wrangled over it for hours, ending in a heated back and forth no one has been brave enough ask him about yet.

_“Sir, I think…”_

_“I know what you think, Bellamy,” Kane snaps. “You’ve made it abundantly clear for,” he checks his watch pointedly, “going on three hours now.”_

_“Because you’re still not listening to me!” Bellamy shoots back, nearly shouting._

_All at once, Kane softens. He shakes his head and shoves the hair that falls in his face away, then leans back against the desk with a strange look. “I forget something how young you really are.” Bellamy rears back, offended, and Kane holds up his hand. “That’s not a jab. Bellamy, I’m listening to you. And part of me agrees, we should just call things what they are and let the situation fall out as they may. There’s a value to being frank.”_

_“Then you’ll change the speech?”_

_Kane shakes his head, dashing the hope rising in his chest. “Bellamy…” He sighs. “If only I’d known the things I know now when I was your age. Strength is important, but believe me, there’s value in learning how to see the shades of grey before the world forces it on you.”_

Bellamy had given way in deference to the grief in Kane’s voice, but it still rankles.

When Kane glances over from the stage midway through his sentence Bellamy’s reassuring nod is a hollow, rote jerk. He’s the first one to look away, turning to bark orders at one of the nearby interns as the same Edwin Starr cover they’ve been playing since Tucson starts up, just as passive-aggressive as the first time he’d heard it.

“That song is banned at the next rally, I swear to god. Nobody lets Octavia near the music list again. Ever.”

“I’ll get Monty on it.” Miller leans against the barricade next to him, back to the stage. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

He ticks off his reasons on his fingers. “There was the campaign video thing, and that fight the other day over how hard a line to take got pretty intense, and you and Octavia keep slipping back to fifth grade. I just wanted to see where your head’s at right now.”

“I don’t know, man.” Bellamy sighs and rakes his hands through his hair, making a note to get it cut when he can find a spare moment. “I’m tired and I’ve got road trip rage, like the rest of the team. This shit’s bad enough when we’re not away from home and barely sleeping. The hustle’s got everybody on edge, that’s all.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I am.” Miller gives him a skeptical look and Bellamy holds his hands up in surrender. “Look, after this we’re back in DC until the Russian delegation clears out and Kane can hit the trail again without worrying somebody’ll cause an international incident while he’s gone. That means we can all sleep in our own beds, maybe even for longer than a couple hours. It’s just what the doctor ordered.”

Miller eyes him suspiciously for a moment longer, but whatever he finds in Bellamy’s face must convince him and he relaxes, nodding agreeably. “You’re not wrong. I was thinking about setting my alarm for noon tomorrow.”

“Noon?” Bellamy shakes his head, faux-disappointed. “Come on, dream big. Don’t set an alarm at all.”

“Now you’re talking.” With a mock-salute Miller leaves to sneak up on Monty, looping one arm around his neck and playfully attempting to drag him to the ground.

Bellamy’s smile drops, and he thinks longingly of the Tylenol stashed on the bus. Just another four hours, and he can sleep in his own apartment, on his own sheets, and in the morning he can make himself coffee in his kitchen. It’s like he said to Miller, all any of them need is sleep and a day or two living like functioning humans and the strained atmosphere will dissipate.

Unbidden, Pike’s dinner offer floats through his mind, and Bellamy grunts in irritation. He’s not opening that door. He made that clear the first time it happened, and once he’s had some time to wind down the idea of letting Pike try again won’t seem worth the free meal and some ego-stroking.

Just a day or two, that’s all he needs. It won’t tempt him anymore in a day or two.

 

* * *

 

Marcus is tired. They all are, but Pike knows the little details that mark out Marcus Kane at his least collected as well as he does his own.

It makes it too easy to bait him. Pike only allows himself little jabs; a comment here, a look there. Nothing the moderator or audience will pick up on, but you don’t live cheek to jowl with a man in the officer’s tent and not learn how to mess with him in ways that can’t get you both NJP’d.

By the fourth _‘I’m sure the Secretary knows’_ , Marcus explodes.

“If _the Senator_ could refrain from leaning on his latent psychic tendencies, I’d love to answer the question for myself.”

Furious murmuring erupts from the press row, loud enough to catch a distinct word or two from the stage.

Shoving his guilt down and locking it away for later, Pike shrugs and pitches his answer to them. “I’ve still forty seconds or so on the clock, Marcus, but if you really think you _need_ it…”

Someone in the audience laughs, setting off a few more. Hannah’s going to love it—Gillmer’s going to want to fundraise off the footage until Pike's sick of his own voice. This is what he came here to do, but the gathering hum of approval can’t sweeten the sting of gaining it from watching an old friend stumble and fall.

 

* * *

 

`**b.blake**  
` is that dinner offer still good?``

`**c.pike**  
` Good to hear from you, Bellamy. And of course it is.``

`**c.pike**  
` Ben’s work for you?``

` **c.pike**  
` My treat.``

` **b.blake**  
` talk about a high roller.``

` **b.blake**  
` sure you don’t want to go all out and hit the occidental? that’s where the legacy paper teams like to go on weeknights.``

` **c.pike**  
` Which is why you’d say no if I offered, so we’ll get some real food instead. Everybody wins.``

` **c.pike**  
` How’s nine sound?``

` **b.blake**  
` nine’s good.``

` **c.pike**  
` See you at nine, then.``

* * *

 

“You know, I’ve never actually been here.”

Pike is inside before Bellamy arrives, chatting with the teenager working the register. He pauses to let her take a selfie with him before joining him.

“Sorry about that. You hungry?”

“Starved.”

By the time they’re settled in with their drinks, one of the tables in the corner has figured out who Pike is. The girl closest to them snaps a picture, setting off a furious round of whispers.

Bellamy shifts in his seat. He’s got his back to the table, but that doesn’t mean Octavia won’t know it’s him if the picture ends up online.

“You want me to go talk to them?” Bellamy looks up from the table and Pike offers him a sympathetic smile. “I can offer them a picture together. Might come off a little arrogant, but odds are it’ll keep the one with you in it off twitter.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” He’s not to doing anything wrong by letting Pike buy him dinner; hiding it would mean there’s something to hide.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Bellamy nods, voice strengthening. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Right now, I’m more concerned with this half-smoke thing I keep hearing about.”

Pike waits until they’re both two hot dogs in to bring up the debates. Distantly, Bellamy can’t help but admire his technique.

“Shame about the other night. Marcus is a good man with a lot of charm, but it’s always been a good one-on-one kinda thing.” He pauses to sip the milkshake the guy behind the counter made for him, unasked. “He sounded condescending last week. It went better overall than the first time, but that’s not saying much.”

He’s not rubbing it in his face; he’s just _right_ , and it makes Bellamy resent hearing it that much more. “It was a clean debate. They both were.”

“Son, I won them both, as much as anybody can win one of those dog and pony shows. Trust me, I’m not complaining.” He shakes his head and chuckles, taking a messy bite of his hot dog and cursing when chili splashes on his tie. “Ah, hell. If I’m gonna do this, might as well give in now.”

Pike yanks the tie off and shoves it in a pocket, grinning across the table at Bellamy like they’re sharing a joke. Against his better judgement, Bellamy grins back, then curses under his breath. It’s a good trick, one that makes Pike’s point for him. He has the kind of charisma you can’t teach a candidate, only cultivate it when it’s there and mitigate the fallout when it’s not.

The press liked Kane just fine when he was in the cabinet, but when he’s in the spotlight he can’t keep them off his ass for a hot minute and there’s no way to change that.

Bellamy narrows his eyes, pissed off all over again. “Look, if you think the Secretary can’t bounce back from—”

“Now, that I didn’t say. The talking heads can say I won all they want. The voters get the final call there, and as far as that goes Marcus is doing just fine.” He shrugs. “I’d still bet you the check the last dozen media consultants you pulled in said the same thing. We’ve only got a month to go until the Iowa caucuses, and he’s not going to do himself any favors outside the lock he’s got on the supers, the way he keeps going.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because when he gets nervous and walls up, it comes off on-camera like he’s an arrogant SOB. I’m the stand-in for the common man for once, and nobody wants to vote for a guy who thinks he’s better than them.”

“That’s a dick thing to say.” Pike raises his brows and takes a slow sip, letting Bellamy play his own words back. After a moment, he tacks on, “Due respect, sir.”

“Nah, you meant that how it came off. You’re loyal, Bellamy, it’s one of the things I like best about you. I’m not on your side. Hearing that from a consultant is one thing. Out of my mouth it’s an attack, I get it.” He taps his fingertips on the table then splays them wide. “You’re right, it _was_ a clean debate, and I know Marcus better than that. I’m not saying any of it to be a dick.”

“Then why say it?”

“Maybe I feel bad I used what I know about Marcus against him…" A there-and-gone hint of guilt flashes in his eyes, only to be papered over with a wry smile. "Not to mention I’d still like to hire you, and that means putting my best face forward. I’d have to get back to you on the exact numbers either way.”

“I’m not going to come work for you,” Bellamy reminds him, wishing he was more offended by being asked again.

“No, you’ve said. But you are here.”

“I like free food. Don’t read anything into it.”

“I’ll do my best, but no promises. You never forget the first person who brings you Ben’s.”

“It’s a factor in play now, I’ll give you that.” Playing along feels like a betrayal, but Bellamy can’t help himself. “But don’t get too comfortable, you were wrong about the consultants.”

Pike studies his face, then he settles back with a satisfied little smile. “Oh, yeah? How’s that?”

“It wasn’t a dozen.”

“How many was it?”

“Seven.”

“Out of?”

 _Seven_. Bellamy pauses, suddenly uneasy. There's no harm to admitting the exact numbers on a problem Pike is well aware exists, and he's not looking to hurt Kane with them once he has them. Even if he wanted to, he'd have to know leaking that kind of backchannel gossip would hurt both campaigns more than it might help his own. Shaking the vague anxiety off, Bellamy shrugs and finishes Pike's perfect set-up with the punchline it demands.  “Seven.”

Pike takes one look at his face and throws his head back and roars with laughter, chasing the appealingly unabashed joy with the last of his water, throwing it all back in one long swallow. “Look, tell him I said to get the hell over himself and crack a joke or two next time.” He stands, cramming the last bit of hot dog in his mouth, foam cup with the rest of the milkshake held firmly in his free hand. Over at their table, the teenagers take a few more obvious pictures. “And that even when he loosens up, I’m still gonna kick his ass.”

Bellamy can’t help but grin back. “Big talk for a guy still twenty points behind us two months before voting starts.” He follows Pike’s lead, finishing his hot dog in one last giant bite. “God, that really is good. I should get myself home, some of us have to get up tomorrow and get ready to win a primary.”

“From your mouth, Blake,” Pike shrugs on his jacket, still chuckling, “to God’s ears. Tell Marcus I want to call in that drink he owes me next month at the caucus.” Pike pauses on their way out the door, covered by the process of fighting his way into his heavy coat. “Bellamy? I know you won’t say yes, but think about the job. Now that I know your order, I’ll throw in a lifetime of half-smokes.”

“Tempting.”

“But not enough to crack you,” Pike finishes for him. “All right, I know when I’m beat.”

“See you in Iowa, sir.”

Once Pike is gone, taking his force of personality with him, unease settles back in. Taking meetings is one thing. Kane himself would tell him to do it; it’s a window into their opponent’s mindset, and a free meal is a free meal.

Even as Bellamy reassures himself, mechanically forcing down the last of his fries, he knows enjoying the pitches as much as he is communicates something too close to a maybe to sit comfortably. There’s nothing to be done for it now but make this the last time he entertains an offer. Giving the table of teenage proto-paparazzi one last frustrated look, Bellamy follows Pike out into the cold.


End file.
